


Becoming a Bird-Family

by BorealisBlast, Reioka



Series: Clint and His Bird-Family [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bonding, Bucky Barnes: Professional Sufferer, Clint's Bird-Family, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Nick Fury Cares, Nick Fury: Too Old for This Shit, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Will add more tag as story continues, but not a terrible injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorealisBlast/pseuds/BorealisBlast, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: The story of how the Bird-Family came to exist, and how everyone finds out about it.





	1. Natasha

Natasha had thought that the act of defecting, or even getting the Americans to believe she was defecting, would be the hardest part. She’d painstakingly put together a file to prove she was sincere, but she hadn’t even handed it over before Fury had said “Welcome aboard.” She’d stopped, file halfway on his desk, and even though she’d been taught to keep her face schooled into an impassive expression, she knew that he could see the confusion on her face.

 

“Agent Coulson will show you to your room,” Fury continued, taking the file from her hands. “There will be cameras, just so you know.”

 

Natasha opened her mouth, closed it. She wanted to cross her arms, but that would be showing how uncomfortable she was. She would not give them the satisfaction. Instead, she nodded once, sharply, and turned to face Agent Coulson.

 

Agent Coulson was a mild looking man, balding, with a smile that hid more than the Mona Lisa’s. He was holding a stack of files that probably needed Fury’s attention, but instead he just motioned at the door. “Shall we?”

 

Natasha nodded again. She was afraid that if she spoke, her voice would give away how scared she was.

 

Agent Coulson showed her to what, effectively, were dorms, and handed her a key. She quietly marveled. The Red Room had never given them so much space to themselves, and never with such freedom. Even on missions, their accommodations had been considered ‘tiny’ at best. She used the key she’d been given to open the door the agent indicated to her.

 

“I will be sharing with someone,” she decided as she stepped into the room. That was the only thing that made sense. There was a lot of space.

 

“No,” Agent Coulson said, the barest hint of amusement in his face. “This is the same basic room that all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents get.”

 

Natasha couldn’t help but cover her mouth with one hand. The room was pretty spartan, but large enough that she’d assumed another person would move into it with her. There was a small table, two chairs, even a small television facing the bed. There was a tiny kitchenette off to the side with a cupboard that, upon further inspection, held some tableware and glasses. There was definitely enough space for a second bed. She approached the door that she assumed was a closet and opened it, just to make sense of her surroundings. She needed to know every inch of this place.

 

She couldn’t help a small noise of surprise. “A private bathroom?”

 

“It’s nothing much,” Agent Coulson said, shrugging. “Some agents don’t like using the communal showers near the gym.”

 

Natasha couldn’t find the words to explain that she had never imagined having a bathroom to herself. It was small, of course, only able to fit a toilet, a shower, and a tiny sink, but it was all hers, for her private use. She reached out to touch the mirror, reverent, and squeaked quietly when it suddenly popped open. Then she realized it was a medicine cabinet.

 

“…I can keep my own medicine and first aid supplies?” she asked, unable to stop herself. All medication and first aid supplies in the Red Room were kept under lock and key, so that it wouldn’t be a secret if any of the girls had an injury (and then, of course, that girl became a liability).

 

“Of course,” Agent Coulson replied, as if that should have been common knowledge.

 

Natasha had no idea what sort of medicine a person should have.

 

Agent Coulson motioned her back out into the main room. He walked over to what she’d assumed was a cabinet for weapons underneath the television. “For now you have S.H.I.E.L.D. issued clothes. Once we get you a card with your monthly allowance on it, you can purchase some of your own, and also some groceries.”

 

Natasha fought the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, almost unable to believe it. She couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands a couple of times, though.

 

Agent Coulson looked at her for a few long seconds before he said, “If you like, I can show you to the cafeteria. You must be hungry.”

 

She mostly felt sick, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

 

Natasha followed him, memorizing each hallway and turn so she could find her way back to her room. Even if it was bugged, it would be a place to get some privacy to plan her next move. They couldn’t see her thoughts.

 

Agent Coulson led her into a giant, echoing room. There was a line of people grabbing trays. _This_ , at least, looked familiar. Their diets had been maintained very studiously in the Red Room. She assumed that S.H.I.E.L.D. kept track of their employees’ nutritional intake as well.

 

“I need to go file some paperwork,” Agent Coulson said after a few moments, and she jumped when she realized she’d been staring, because the lines of food seemed much longer than in the Red Room. “I can escort you back to your room. Or, if you’d like to eat, I can return for you in an hour.”

 

The idea of going back to her room, bugged as it was, was tempting. However, she had been on the run for quite some time before that blond-haired agent had brought her back here. She needed sustenance.

 

“I’ll eat,” she told him, and watched him nod and leave the room before she walked over to join the end of the line of people waiting to get food.

 

Natasha picked up a tray and leaned forward a little to see what kind of food was being served. She’d need a lot of protein, some carbs—

 

She stiffened when she saw some sort of bright orange pasta. That was not food. Food was not that color. She had to cover her mouth when one of the men in front of her took a large scoop of the toxic orange pasta and slopped it on his tray. It made a horrifying ‘glop’ sound. She shuddered. Even the oatmeal they’d had in the Red Room had not made that sound.

 

She paused, eyes on the bright orange pasta, then leaned forward to look further down the line. She felt her stomach drop.

 

There was white stuff that she assumed was mashed potatoes, but it was wetter than any mashed potatoes she’d ever seen, almost liquid as it was dropped onto a tray, then covered by a brown gravy that was gelatinous. She looked further to see what might have generously been called a hamburger if you discounted the flat, floppy bun and the fact that there was literally only a patty on it.

 

Natasha had had better food on missions, and quite frankly, she would have preferred it. She wished there was something that she recognized, like rye bread or borscht, or even pickled herring. None of the things in the food bar looked good. Even the lettuce looked limp.

 

A hand landed on her shoulder. The only reason she did not grab the wrist of the offender and pitch them into the line of people was because she knew she would not make it out of the cafeteria unscathed. There were too many people.

 

“I heard they got you settled in!” the blond man crowed. He was loud. Women from the Red Room did not survive if they were loud. “Glad to see you settling in! Whatcha eating?”

 

Natasha set the tray back down. She didn’t feel very hungry. “I’m not hungry.”

 

Hawkeye stared at her, eyebrow raised, before looking back at the food. Then he looked back at her with a grin. “I can see why. I bet they didn’t have Kraft macaroni and cheese where you came from.”

 

She could not even comprehend what those words meant. She had seen no macaroni and cheese. Only toxic waste.

 

“Have you ever had pizza?” he asked.

 

Natasha knew she was in no position to be rude, but she couldn’t help giving him her best bitch face. “Of course I have.” What person had never had pizza? It existed everywhere.

 

“Great! I know a place nearby. Best pizza in the entire state,” Hawkeye continued, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her out of the cafeteria.

 

Natasha plucked his hand from her shoulder and lifted his arm up and off, dropping it. “I’ll follow you.”

 

“Breakin’ my heart, Romanov,” Hawkeye drawled, but took point. He kept up an incessant amount of chatter as he led the way out of the building and down the street. She understood one word out of five, but not for lack of trying; he was speaking English, but also like he was reading a fiction novel to her.

 

She swore she actually heard the word ‘elf’ come from his mouth.

 

“Tada!” Hawkeye spread his hands toward a tiny storefront with pieces of dancing pizza painted on the windows.

 

Natasha stared.

 

The blond’s smile started to fade. He glanced at the windows, then grinned. “I swear that it tastes better than the dancing pizza makes it seem.”

 

“I want anchovies,” she said, because it wasn’t pickled herring, but it would be close enough.

 

“Gross,” Hawkeye said, but obediently ordered anchovies on their pizza.

 

It was pretty good pizza, Natasha decided. Needed more sauce, though.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

There was no toilet chain. Natasha searched for an hour. Eventually, she opened the tank and flushed it manually from there, but she still couldn’t figure out why the hell she would be given a toilet without a chain to flush it. At least she’d found a gun taped to the top of the lid. She’d felt rather naked without one, despite all the knives she’d been able to smuggle in.

 

“Are you okay?” Clint (which was his real name, and she couldn’t believe he’d given it to her) said through the door.

 

She kept the gun in the toilet lid, just to have as a backup. She could take Clint with her bare hands. “Yes.” She turned and opened the door. “Where do I put in a request for maintenance?”

 

Clint frowned. “Did you clog the toilet or something? But you had a salad, too.”

 

“If that had been the case, I would have asked for a plunger.” Natasha motioned behind her. “My toilet is missing the flush chain.”

 

The blond stared at her. “…I just heard you flush it. By the way, the walls are thin as fuck here.”

 

Natasha sighed. Loudly. “I flushed it manually. I’m talking about the chain you pull on to flush it.”

 

Clint stared at her for a very long time. She waited, because she was used to having to wait for the right moment to strike.

 

“…Why,” the blond began, then held his hands up, sighing. “No, I won’t even ask. The KGB just sounds weirder by the minute. You don’t have to use a chain.”

 

She pointed at the toilet and made a confused noise, but didn’t have time to get the words out before he pushed her aside to reach the toilet.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Why would they put the handle right next to the wall?” Clint squeezed past her and reached around the side of the toilet. “I hate working for the government.”

 

Natasha heard the clink of metal on porcelain and then watched as the toilet flushed. She shoved Clint aside to look at where he’d been touching, fighting the urge to flush with embarrassment when she saw the metal handle there. It was pressed up against the wall, so it was mostly hidden.

 

But she was a spy. She should have been able to see that.

 

“Aw, baby-bird,” Clint cooed, reaching out to pat her shoulder.

 

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, moving away from him.

 

She should have known that was there. She’d seen toilets with handles before. She shouldn’t have assumed that the US government was just as far behind as the Red Room when it came to plumbing. Just because she hadn’t seen it at first didn’t mean she shouldn’t have checked again.

 

“Romanov,” Clint began, following her out of the bathroom.

 

Natasha threw open her door and strode out quickly, trying to look like she wasn’t running.

 

Even though she was.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Natasha didn’t see Clint for two weeks. By that time, she had gotten her allowance, bought a few necessities, and then gone to a grocery store.

 

She came back empty-handed and feeling like she might throw up. She went through the cafeteria line and got sandwiches.

 

“You have nothing to eat,” Clint complained when she came back to her room, not hungry but definitely unsatisfied. “You’ve had your allowance for a few days. Why don’t you have any chips?”

 

Natasha said nothing. She would not admit that she had been overwhelmed by the abundance of food available to her. She had never seen so many types of bread. She hadn’t been able to find any rye.

 

“You probably don’t know what my favorite chips are,” Clint decided without her speaking. He popped to his feet and grabbed her wrist. “C’mon, I’ll show you. That way I won’t be bored when I wait for you!”

 

Natasha smacked his hand off of her wrist but followed him.

 

Entering the grocery store again made her break out in a cold sweat. She felt sick again. There were so many bright colors. All of the shelves were full of things that she didn’t even understand. What was a ‘Twizzler?’

 

“I like barbecue Lay’s,” Clint said, grabbing a cart. He reached out for her hand.

 

Natasha snatched it away from him, but then rested her hand on the cart. She didn’t want to get separated from him. He was liable to get shot. He just had that ‘don’t give a fuck’ air about him.

 

He led her through the chip aisle, tossing a black bag of chips into the cart. “What’s your favorite chip?”

 

She didn’t have a favorite. The Red Room discouraged favorite anything. “…Corn,” she said after a few moments, looking at some yellow chips.

 

“Yeah, and you look pretty fancy. Better get you fancy chips.” Clint reached out for a bag that depicted blue corn. “Okay. What’s your favorite lunch meat?”

 

“Ham,” she answered promptly. It was the cheapest meat. They’d had it all the time. Sometimes they had chicken. It wasn’t always in the best condition though. “And swiss cheese.”

 

“Awesome.” Clint began steering the cart down another aisle. “What kind of bread?”

 

She knew immediately what kind of bread. “Rye.” She would give her eyeteeth for a good rye bread.

 

“Oh. Then we’ll go to my favorite deli for that. Grocery store rye is shit. But we can’t get ham at the deli. You know, with the owners being Jewish and all.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I am aware.”

 

“Just making sure, man, because I didn’t know. _That_ was embarrassing, let me tell you,” Clint said, prattling on and on throughout the entire shopping trip.

 

 She did like the blue corn chips, surprisingly.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Natasha glared at the counter, frustrated.

 

Clint had introduced her to the marvel known as coffee, and she had quickly grown to love the hot liquid. But the cafeteria coffee was found lacking. So Clint had bought her a coffee machine, one that was small enough to fit in her kitchen and she could make a cup whenever she wanted.

 

That was, if she could get the stupid thing to work!

 

Natasha knew how to use most appliances, she wasn’t an idiot. But there were just so many buttons! Each of them seemed to do a different thing, and none of them caused coffee to come out.

 

She was very tempted to destroy it and tell Clint that it was an accident, but she knew that he would just buy her another one.

 

She didn’t want to have to ask him for help though. She didn’t need anyone’s help.

 

She finally decided to give up on the coffee machine and poured some of the coffee grounds into a mug along with some water, mixing it with a spoon then shoving the whole thing into the microwave.

 

See, she could use a microwave, thank you very much.

 

At that moment, the scent of smoke caught her attention. She gaped at the pan on the stove. She had just barely turned it on! It took way longer than that to begin to heat anything up!

 

She roughly dropped the pan in the sink, turned the water on, and turned the stove off, staring balefully at the now burnt and water logged eggs. She’d been looking forward to eating something that she’d actually cooked herself.

 

At least she’d turned it off before the smoke alarm went off though. That wouldn’t have been good for her reputation.

 

Then she saw something light up in the corner of her eye. She turned to the microwave, not sure what to expect. She found herself caught off guard for the second time that day,

 

The spoon she had used to stir the coffee was throwing off sparks. Alarmed, not wanting to start another fire, she stepped forward and yanked the whole thing off the counter, unplugging it and smashing the whole thing on the ground.

 

The next thing she knew, Clint was there, a gun out, his arm stretched protectively towards her.

 

He moved with a grace she hadn’t seen from him before, his face was oddly blank, and she suddenly realized just how dangerous he truly was.

 

She was forced to ponder the implications of that thought later, as he straightened up once he understood what had caused the mess in the kitchenette. She appreciated that he was able to prevent himself from smiling.

 

“Come on, I think today feels like a ‘let’s eat outside’ kind of day.”

 

As she followed his lead, half listening to his now-comforting babble about anything and everything, she couldn’t help but feel slightly happy that the man she had let into her life was at least able to defend himself.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Natasha was just unwrapping her hands when a balding man wearing large glasses approached her. He was sweating. He hadn’t even been working out.

 

“Ma’am,” he began, voice squeaky with terror. “It’s come to our attention that your bill this month exceeded the limit you were given by seventy-three dollars and eighty-nine cents.”

 

“How the hell,” Clint asked, cheek already beginning to bruise where she’d jabbed him. “I showed you how to use coupons, right? I even proved how awesome it was when I brought my total down by fifty bucks!”

 

There were no coupons for the artisan rye bread sitting safely in her freezer. Neither was the pastrami. She had discovered a new weakness for delis. Nothing in the Red Room had tasted so good.

 

Natasha stared at the man impassively. Never give an inch.

 

The man began sweating a bit more. “…T-try to keep inside your budget this month,” he stuttered, then fled.

 

“Aw, Dewey,” Clint sighed. “You scared him.”

 

Natasha did not feel bad for scaring a man named Dewey.

 

“Be nice to Dewey. He’s the one that will sneak you extra cash at the end of the month.”

 

Natasha got the feeling that she did not need to be nice to him to get that extra money.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Her first mission with S.H.I.E.L.D. was a shit show. The US had such different rules to play by than the KGB. She managed not to kill her mark, and gathered the evidence needed, but she got stabbed for her troubles.

 

Natasha did not go to medical, because showing weakness might mean her death. She had stocked her medicine cabinet with bandages and antiseptic. She would be fine.

 

Clint burst in on her just when she was winding the bandages around her waist. She fumbled for the gun in the toilet tank.

 

“Holy shit, Natasha!” Clint barked, scowling at her. “You’re bleeding everywhere!”

 

She pointed the gun at him.

 

He glared at her. “Don’t shoot me!”

 

She hesitated. He snatched the gun from her hand deftly. She cursed her moment of weakness.

 

“Chill out, baby-bird,” he ordered. He took the bandages from her hands. “You’re a mess.” He knelt between her legs and began wrapping her wound, tight but not too tight. “Why didn’t you go to medical?”

 

Natasha stayed silent. She would have to silence him before he went and snitched on her. The thought saddened her, just a little.

 

“If you’re going to patch yourself up, at least call me?” Clint sighed. “Someone’s gotta take care of your dumb ass, baby-bird.”

 

“You keep calling me that,” she said, hand reaching back to grab the knife tucked into her belt. “Why?”

 

Clint scowled at her. “Because you’re my child.” He glared at her a moment longer before returning his attention to her wound. “Like I said, someone’s gotta take care of your dumb ass. I found you. Might as well be me.”

 

Natasha sat there stiffly as he tied the bandages and then gently smoothed his hands over them. She let go of the knife and drew her hands back in front of her.

 

When he called her ‘bird-daughter,’ she threw the knife at him. He screamed like a girl.

 

Natasha had to fight very hard to keep the smile off of her face.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Clint’s first mission since Natasha arrived was taking longer than expected. It was making her edgy.

 

Although she was already notorious around SHIELD due to her history, her fighting abilities and her blank stare when she wanted to creep someone out, after she nearly dislocated a man’s arm when he tried to press the elevator button for her, no one dared approach her.

 

She hated to admit it, but it felt odd without the man.

 

She had grown used to having him nearby, knowing that if she was confused (not confused, the Black Widow knew everything) he would somehow know without her mentioning it and help her out.

 

Even though she had grown accustomed to the grocery stores in America, while Clint was gone she had secluded herself in the agency, sticking to what Americans called food.

 

When Coulson took pity on her and looked the other way while she snuck a peek at his mission records, she felt even worse. Two nights before, they had lost contact with him and hadn’t heard from him since.

 

That night she spent hours in the gym, after scaring away the other agents.

 

The same thing happened the next day.

 

And the next.

 

The morning of the day after that, after laying the required 5 hours in bed, despite being unable to sleep a wink, she heard someone fumbling at her door.

 

Instantly, her knife was in her hand and she was prepared for anything that was about to happen.

 

Except for a figure leaning against the doorframe and a voice drawling “I heard that someone turned this base upside down while I was gone.”

 

Natasha sat bolt upright, unsure if she could believe her eyes or not. By this time she had been positive that Clint had died.

 

Clint chuckled and moved into the room, closing the door. Natasha didn’t move, not even when he rummaged in the cupboards and found the bag of chips that Natasha would never admit she had bought specifically for him.

 

He sprawled out on one of the chairs and started munching contentedly. The room was silent for a long moment, Natasha being sure to keep a blank look on her face. She didn’t want Clint to know how relieved she was that he had made it back safely.

 

“Sorry for worrying you” At Natasha’s faint scowl he hastily corrected himself. “Yeah, yeah, I know you weren’t worried. Still sorry. Tech malfunction.” He gestured at his ears vaguely. “I’m perfectly fine though.”

 

Natasha nodded. Clint looked pleased.

 

“You can sleep if you want. I’ll just be sitting here for a bit.”

 

This time Natasha couldn’t even look at him. She didn’t think she looked that tired. Plus, she had gone far longer on lesser amounts of sleep than this.

 

But she had to admit that it would be nice to not have to worry about staying on guard watching her back.

 

Without saying a word, Natasha laid down and rolled onto her side. She quickly fell asleep to the comforting sound of Clint chewing.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

The higher ups quickly realized that while Natasha was an excellent agent who could work with anyone, she was exceptional when she worked with someone she deeply trusted.

 

Since Clint only worked with people he deeply trusted, they started getting missions together.

 

The first couple of missions went amazingly, with neither of them being injured, and nothing out of the ordinary happening. It was on the one after that that Natasha freaked out.

 

The intel had been wrong, they had underestimated the amount of personnel on the base, and the two of them were now having to fight their way out. Natasha had a badly sprained ankle from when she had to jump down 3 stories in order to avoid a bullet, but she was doing a good job hiding that injury.

 

Although Clint had asked that she tell him about every injury, she didn’t want to worry him while they were still in the middle of the mission. Besides, it wasn’t that bad. She’d had worse.

 

They were just nearing the outside walls, less than 10 people left to subdue, when Clint grinned at her and stood up, arms outstretched, careless of the incoming fire.

 

She stared in shock, freezing incrementally, when his torso jerked with the impact of a bullet.

 

The next few minutes were a haze, and the next thing she knew, all of the enemies were incapacitated, and she was by Clint’s side.

 

Who, she now noticed, had been watching her, still grinning. She paused during her first aid administration and frowned at him.

 

“I’m hurt,” he said happily.

 

Natasha started worrying that he had received a head wound during the battle that she hadn’t noticed.

 

“I’m hurt and it was my fault.” It was impossible for someone to be that happy about that fact.

 

She decided to ignore him, clearly he was delirious, and continued checking his wound. It wasn’t as bad as she had first thought, but it was still pretty bad. Much as she loathed to admit it, she was going to have to call it in.

 

The mission had been accomplished, and it wasn’t worth the risk to stay and take care of his wound.

 

Of course, that meant that Clint was going to end up in medical. That wouldn’t do, she didn’t want him to be declared a liability.

 

The decision was taken out of her hands when Clint whipped out his communicator and called S.H.I.E.L.D., reporting mission completion and an injury. She stared at him in disbelief. Clearly something was wrong with his brain at the moment.

 

Once they were back at S.H.I.E.L.D., and Clint was getting stitches, she started pacing her room. She wouldn’t dare wait in the waiting room; that would be showing everyone that she (gulp) actually cared about someone.

 

That would be showing weakness.

 

Finally, Clint showed up, still dressed in his mission clothes, still covered in blood. She stopped pacing and stared at him. “What was the outcome?” she asked stiffly.

 

“Not a big deal,” he said, flopping on the bed. “ Got a couple more stitches to add to my collection.”

 

Natasha kept staring at him. “But…” Clint looked up at her, his face oddly serious for once. He wouldn’t judge her. “…What’s your punishment?” she asked softly.

 

Clint looked at her very understandingly. “Coulson’s mad about the paperwork, so I need to help him fill them out. And I have to teach the junior agents until I recover fully.”

 

Natasha knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. That, that wasn’t punishment. That was make up work, something you gave to a child to keep them busy.

 

“But… It was your fault. You got hurt, but you could have prevented it.”

 

“Yep. But, it happens. Coulson ranted a bit, but that was really just because he cares. It happens to everyone.”

 

Something about the look on Clint’s face made Natasha suspicious. She forced herself to take a step back from the situation and evaluate it. None of Clint’s reactions made sense. Not unless…

 

She gasped and slapped Clint.

 

“You let yourself get _shot_ just so you could prove to me that it was OK to get hurt on a mission?!?”

 

Clint’s sheepish grin was enough confirmation for Natasha. She slapped him again and left the room.

 

Once she was in the hallway, she paused. That was her room, not Clint’s.

 

She didn’t particularly feel like forcing the injured man to leave the bed he was on, though.

 

Collecting herself, and holding back a sigh, she strode down the hallway, heading to the gym. She’d let Clint rest for a bit before she challenged him to a spar, making him realize what an idiotic idea that was.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Months later, once Clint had apologized for worrying her (no, she doesn’t worry) and he had completely healed, they were on another mission together.

 

This time it was very simple, just sneak into the enemies’ lab and get some information. There shouldn’t be anyone shooting at them, as long as they were careful.

 

The two of them were crawling down a vent. Natasha was focused on the mission, but Clint seemed slightly distracted. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but he was ahead of her and was slowing her down.

 

She shoved her impatience aside. She was capable of being patient, she was very good at it. She just didn’t like it when people around her didn’t do their best.

 

She stopped when Clint did, suddenly on the alert. But all he did was reach out and stroke the side of the vent. “Vents are great, aren’t they? I love it when I get to go in them for a mission.”

 

Natasha stared at him, nonplussed, then pushed him forward. She saw a slight smile on his face, but he made no comment.

 

He seemed to gain focus after that, and gathering the information went as planned. No one suspected a thing.

 

They were on their way out, heading back through the vents, when they came to an intersection. Due to the way it was designed, it was slightly larger than the rest of it. Natasha hadn’t paid any attention to that fact, other than noting it as a possible tactical advantage.

 

Clint twisted and flopped down onto his back. Natasha lunged forward, in mission mode, keeping an eye and ear open. Had he been hurt? Did someone see them? Was there booby traps?

 

Her concerns were allayed when Clint grinned up at her lazily. “Isn’t this great? Vents are great. You could make an awesome home base right here.”

 

Natasha stared at him in horror. Although it was an easy mission, it was still a mission. It was no time to be stopping to think about the benefits of an air delivery system.

 

She slapped him, and he got up, grinning and grumbling under his breath. She ignored him and focused on getting out of the building.

 

Later, when they were back at S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint popped into her room.

 

Literally popped into her room, dropping down from a grate in the wall.

 

He was fortunate that she only nicked his ear with her knife. She could have chosen to hit him somewhere else.

 

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. I want to show you my nest.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Your nest.”

 

“Yeah, it fits. Hawkeye, you know?”

 

She stared at him blankly for a moment, before his beaming face and patience made her give in. Besides, it would be a good idea to have an unobtrusive route around the building in case things went south.

 

And it wasn’t like she was going to spend a lot of time in there.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Natasha thought she might feel jealous when she heard Clint call Tony his bird-son. She might have been, if she hadn’t seen firsthand what a mess he was during the palladium poisoning. He needed someone to take care of him, especially now that he and Pepper had broken up.

 

She placed a package of shortbread cookies in the nest and stroked Tony’s hair. Clint and Tony would be good for each other. Clint liked having someone to take care of, and Tony liked being taken care of as long as it seemed like he wasn’t. Clint was very good at making people think that they were doing him a favor by letting him take care of them.

 

“Sleep tight,” she whispered, giving the brunette one last pat on the head, before turning to leave.

 

“You know you can join the bird nest,” Clint mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Tony won’t say no to someone else to snuggle.”

 

“Hard pass,” Natasha replied, smiling, and reached out to pat his head as well. “You know how I feel about the nest, but thanks for the offer. If you guys want to cuddle in the common room, though, I might not say no.”

 

The blond gave her a grin that was probably supposed to be a smirk, but he was too tired. “Now who’s the softy?”

 

She reached out to poke his forehead. “It’s still you.” She smiled, then turned to leave. “Sleep tight, idiots.”

 

“You’re just calling us idiots because you _like_ us. You call the people you don’t like even worse!”

 

“I’ll stab you, Clint. Don’t think I won’t.”

 

She wouldn’t, though. She kind of liked these idiots.


	2. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is going to give Clint ulcers. Bruce can relate.

“Why,” Bruce asked when he saw the lack of carnage left by the Hulk, but multiple piles of smoking goo. “What even happened?”  


 

“Slime monsters!” Tony exclaimed, almost gleefully. “Hulk liked listening to them splatter, so he didn’t smash much. Also this is why grad students need more funding—the kid didn’t even mean to make them. It was an accident!”

 

Steve looked tired. “Why are you so happy? I have been slapping slime monsters away from me with my shield for hours.”

 

Tony turned to give him a grin. “Not gonna lie. I’m always a little happy when it’s not someone actually trying to take over New York. Poor girl. All she could do was cry and apologize. I’m pretty sure she was running on energy drinks and determination alone.”

 

Bruce couldn’t help a small smile as well. “I don’t miss being a grad student at all. At least you had Rhodes to remind you to eat.”

 

The brunet scoffed. Loudly. “Rhodey was writing his thesis, too. We both lost ten pounds.”

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow as he watched Clint clutch his chest in horror. He chalked it up to Clint never having experienced grad school. Most people who hadn’t experienced thesis deadlines and horrible professors reacted the same way.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Tony jumped when a platter of sandwiches was slammed down in front of him. “What the fuck?!”

 

“You lost ten pounds!” Clint exclaimed, looking harried.

 

The brunet gaped at him. “…That was over _twenty years ago!_ ”

 

Clint grabbed a sandwich and shoved it into his mouth before he could close it. Tony yelped, muffled by bread, and almost choked. Another hand appeared, grabbed the blond’s wrist, and dragged it back, giving him room to breathe.

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Pathetic,” she said, though whether to Clint or Tony, they had no idea. She grabbed the platter of sandwiches, leaving only two behind. “Thanks for stealing the food Steve made, by the way. Some of this was for me.” She gave the blond a very stern look before she turned to leave the workshop.

 

Dum-E made a happy beep and held a glass filled with green liquid to her on her way.

 

“…Thank you,” she said, trying very hard not to look flattered, and took the glass with her.

 

Tony chewed the bite of sandwich in his mouth before he said, “Good job, Dum-E. That was very nice.” He took another bite, watching the robot do a victory spin at the praise. “Although why does she get smoothies without oil. Unbelievable.” He finally gave the blond a sidelong look. “I can’t believe you stole food from Natasha.”

 

Clint opened his mouth, then sighed, shrugging, and grabbed one of the remaining sandwiches. “Yeah. It’d probably take you hours to finish a tray of sandwiches anyway.”

 

Tony scarfed the rest of his sandwich down in record time and grabbed the last one.

 

Clint screamed, horrified. “What is the _matter_ with you?!”

 

“’m gonna work on the armor. Got some slime in the joints,” Tony said, mouth full. “Wanna get it out before it dries.”

 

“I have never seen a sandwich disappear so fast, oh my God. Even Thor doesn’t eat like that,” Clint muttered, taking the rest of his sandwich and heading toward the door. “Don’t worry, sandwich. I will appreciate you properly.”

 

Tony couldn’t help but smile fondly as the archer left, then winced, hand going to his thigh.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Give Tony these,” Natasha ordered, shoving a Tupperware through the vent at him.

 

“What,” Clint said, but took the Tupperware. He peered inside. “Aw, I had no idea you liked ‘ants on a log!’”

 

Natasha stared at him, nonplussed. “I have no idea what that is.”

 

The archer frowned. “…But you made it.”

 

“The celery is just a vehicle for the peanut butter. He needs more protein.” She pointed at the box. “And he likes raisins for some God awful reason and we had a box.”

 

Clint couldn’t help a small grin. “We call that ‘ants on a log.’ It’s a children’s snack.”

 

Natasha looked approving at this information. “Yes. Good. Children need protein to grow.”

 

Sometimes he really didn’t know when she was being serious and when she was fucking with him. He got the disconcerting feeling that this time, she was being serious. He opened his mouth to ask, just to make sure.

 

“Tony’s been in the workshop since we got back,” she said before he could speak.

 

Clint let out a squawk and began crawling toward the workshop. “This guy’s gonna give me palpitations!”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow as she watched him go. “Should’ve seen him when he was being poisoned,” she said to herself. She thought about telling him about that time, but Clint might actually have a heart attack if she did that.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Okay, baby-bird, time for bed,” Clint said, dropping down from the vent.

 

Tony groaned, loudly, and did not turn away from his desk.

 

“Natasha made ants on a log,” the blond wheedled, walking up behind him. He grabbed the genius’s chair and spun him around.

 

“Ack!” Tony flailed, hands flying down to grab the seat so he wouldn’t fall onto the floor. “Clint!”

 

Clint grabbed his shoulders and grinned. “Natasha made you food. That means she _likes_ you.”

 

“I’m busy,” the brunet said. “Also what is that?”

 

The blond’s smile faded a little. “Celery, peanut butter, and raisins?”

 

Tony frowned at him, confused. “Why would you ever put peanut butter on celery?”

 

Clint gave the brunet’s shoulders a squeeze. This poor child. He had never had ants on a log. Clint had grown up in a circus and even _he_ had had ants on a log.

 

“My child,” he said, tugging him up out of his seat. “Come have ants on a log.”

 

Tony made a tiny noise that sounded like agony as he came up off the chair.

 

Clint stared at him, stone-faced, as the brunet tried to fall back into the chair. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders and moved him to the side so he could look at it.

 

There was a large, rusty brown spot on the leather.

 

"It's not my blood!" Tony yelped.

 

Clint let out a long, low sigh, turning a glare on the brunet.

 

Tony opened his mouth, closed it, then threw his arms up, sliding out of his shirt and limping away quickly.

 

“What the fuck—” the archer exclaimed, tossing the shirt aside furiously even if he was a little impressed as well.

 

He chased after the brunet and caught him at the elevator, where he was leaning against the wall sweaty and panting from that short trek. He could see a similar patch of rusty brown on the back of the brunet’s right leg, sticking to what looked like a wad of more fabric inside his pants.

 

“What is this?” Clint hissed, coming up beside him. “What even happened? We were literally fighting _slime._ ”

 

“You can’t get mad,” Tony said immediately.

 

Clint considered telling the brunet it was too late, but there was something desperate about his tone. “…I’ll try,” he lied.

 

“I. Uh. I might. Have not been paying attention?” the other man said, sounding nervous. “And might have. Accidentally. Gotten between Hulk and a slime.”

 

“Tony,” Clint began, appalled.

 

Tony spun toward him, eyes wild. “You can’t tell Bruce! It was an accident and he didn’t even notice. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t ricocheted off of a light pole and it hit right in the seam. It wasn’t his fault!”

 

Clint made an angry noise, but couldn’t fault the brunet for not wanting to tell Bruce. Sometimes Bruce looked like a caged animal, or like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Those expressions had decreased the longer they lived and worked together, but it only took one small setback for him to think about running again.

 

Finally, he pointed at the older man’s wound. “That’s no reason not to have that looked at! You are an excellent liar! You could have made the medics believe _anything!_ ”

 

Tony scowled at him. “I’m _fine!_ ”

 

Clint looked down at the floor, where a small puddle of blood had formed by his heel. “…I’m gonna kill you myself,” he hissed, then lunged at him.

 

Tony screamed.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

_“You piece of shit I can’t believe you actually made me do this!”_

_“Let go, I’m fine!”_

_“If you say that one more time I’m going to slap the crap out of you. And it won’t be hard, because you’re **so full of it!** ”_

 

Bruce squinted up at the vent above his desk. That sounded like Clint and Tony.

 

_“I poop regularly, just so you know. So I’m **not** full of crap.”_

_“That was an expression but I’m pleased to know you have healthy bowel movements.”_

 

It was definitely Clint and Tony. He despaired; this wasn’t even the worst conversation of theirs that he’d ever heard.

 

Bruce watched the vent fall open and sighed, standing up to push his desk back a little.

 

Tony yowled like a wet cat as he was delicately lowered from the vent.

 

“Usually you just fall,” Bruce commented. He reached out to wrap his arms around the brunet’s legs and helped ease him to the ground. If Clint was helping him down, there must be a reason.

 

Clint dropped to the ground and grabbed the genius before he could flee. “No! No, no, no! If you’re going to be a baby about going to medical, you have to do this!”

 

Bruce frowned, concerned. “Medical?”

 

“I’m _fine!_ ” Tony said mulishly.

 

Clint muscled the brunet around so the other man could see the rusty brown stain on the back of his pants.

 

Bruce immediately scowled. “Tony.”

 

“Bruce—” Tony began plaintively.

 

“I don’t actually want to hear your excuses,” Bruce cut in, trying to save them all some time. “I just can’t believe Clint had to drag you here.”

 

He’d meant that Tony usually _did_ eventually make his way to him to get patched up, but apparently that’s not what Clint gleaned from what he said.

 

He puffed up like a peacock, glaring at him. “He’s my bird-son. Of course I’m going to make sure he gets medical attention!”

 

Bruce had no idea what that meant, but he decided to worry about it later. “Okay.” He turned toward Tony, face stern. “Strip.”

 

“But _Bruce,_ ” Tony whined.

 

He pointed in the brunet’s face, scowling.

 

Tony pouted a little, but he did start pulling down his pants. “It’s not that bad.”

 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Let me be the judge of OH MY GOD!”

 

Underneath his pants was a large wad of gauze, dried to his sluggishly bleeding wound. There was a thin trickle of blood running down his leg. It must have been bleeding for a long time.

 

“You could have bled out and you would have been too stubborn to do anything about it!” Bruce exclaimed angrily. He took a few deep breaths. The Hulk would do no good here. “Clint, grab the first-aid kit and a bottle of water.” He eyed the wad of gauze. “…Maybe two.”

 

“Sure,” the blond replied, walking over to the large kit that Tony apparently required in all of the labs in his building.

 

Bruce herded Tony over to a table. “Bend over.”

 

Tony opened his mouth.

 

“This really isn’t the time for a lewd joke,” he told the brunet coldly, because he could have died simply by being a stubborn piece of shit.

 

Tony pouted but obediently bent over the table, taking his weight off of his feet.

 

Bruce muttered some choice words under his breath as he peeled off the outer pieces of gauze. There was so much blood.

 

“…It’s not that bad,” Tony muttered.

 

Bruce gaped up at him, angry but also impressed by his level of denial. “Tony, I can literally see your open wound. It’s _that bad._ ”

 

Clint set the kit down in front of him, along with several bottles of water. “What next?”

 

“Pour one of the bottles over the gauze so I can try and work it off without damaging what’s scabbed over,” he ordered. “Jesus. You couldn’t have come even an hour ago?”

 

“It’s not that bad!” Tony repeated, the broken record that he was.

 

Clint muttered under his breath, something like ‘this guy’s going to give me ulcers.’ Bruce could relate.

 

“This is going to hurt,” he warned, beginning to pull at the gauze.

 

Tony continued to make him feel sad when he made no sound, instead gripping the table so tight his fingertips went white, like he couldn’t even let himself sound weak in front of his friends. He glanced at Clint, who was grim-faced, but not surprised.

 

“Okay, that’s off,” Bruce said, trying to sound upbeat about it, but then he got a full view of the gash across the back of the brunet’s thigh and let out a squawk. “Tony, this could have hit an artery! _You could have died._ ”

 

“But it didn’t,” Tony argued, voice tight. “And I didn’t.”

 

Bruce looked at Clint. Clint looked back at him and mouthed ‘ulcers.’

 

“I’d scold you but I’m pretty sure Clint has that covered for me,” Bruce said mildly.

 

Tony made a very sad sound and moved as if he was going to get up. Clint put a stop to that by standing up and shoving him back down onto the table.

 

“…What is this,” Bruce muttered to himself, but turned to the first-aid kit to pull out a sanitized needle and thread without actually directing his question at them. “This needs stitches. I’ll try to be quick, okay?”

 

“Whatever,” the brunet answered, putout.

 

“Thank you, Bruce,” Clint said a few seconds later, then turned toward the genius, scowling. “You ungrateful piece of shit, Bruce is making sure you don’t die. I will not bury my child.”

 

“I’m older than you,” Tony whined.

 

Bruce couldn’t help but smile a little. He didn’t understand their relationship, but it was nice to listen to them bicker when he knew they actually cared about each other. Their sass was actually… kind of soothing.

 

He finished stitching up the wound and smeared some antiseptic on it before gently covering it with gauze. “I want to see this every day, Tony. Because I bet if it got infected you’d just saw off your leg.”

 

“I have a spare,” Tony scoffed, moving his other leg.

 

Clint looked like he’d have an aneurysm. Bruce was sure that he would be seeing Tony every day to check that wound.

 

“Baby-bird,” Clint said, very sternly. “I’m going to name the ulcer you cause me to have after you. And I will be very upset when I can’t have acidic foods.”

 

Tony looked as confused as Bruce felt, so that was nice.

 

Clint turned and held his hand out. Bruce shook it, just because he didn’t know what else to do.

 

“Thank you for taking care of my bird-son,” he said, sincerely, which was strange because Bruce was used to him being a snarky asshole. “The bird-family is in your debt.”

 

“What the hell?” Bruce replied.

 

Tony looked putout again. “Natasha’s gonna be so mad if you make her think she owes Bruce.”

 

Clint suddenly looked tired and annoyed. “Natasha _does_ actually care about you, Tony. She made you ants on a log because she wants you to have more protein.”

 

“Aw, that was nice of her,” Bruce said, because it was.

 

“Ants on a log does not even sound appetizing. Why would you ever make children eat that?” Tony scoffed.

 

Bruce gaped at him. “You’ve never had ants on a log?” _Everyone_ had had ants on a log.

 

Tony’s face went from annoyed to unsure, like it often did when he realized he’d said something that wasn’t considered normal, like when he’d joked about being kidnapped as a child or said something about being beat up by older kids in middle school. Steve, especially, had made sad noises in response, and had tried to find out everything could about Howard after the war to figure out just how he could fail a child so badly.

 

“…Unless you don’t like celery,” he added.

 

“Why the fuck would you put peanut butter on celery!” Tony bellowed, like the information that people did this and _liked_ it offended him.

 

"Tony, I've seen you eat things that were under the couch for a MONTH! You have literally no leg to stand on."

 

Clint looked aghast at this new information. He thought he had taught his bird-son better than that. Tony smirked. He moved to stand up. Clint squawked and Bruce made a noise of protest, both reaching out and holding Tony down.

 

"Why would you do that?!" Clint all but screamed. Tony smirked again.

 

"I was showing you that I can too stand on my leg."

 

Clint gawked at Tony's explanation while Bruce sighed in exasperation. He really should have known better than to use that expression right then. He addressed his next remarks to Clint, knowing that Tony wouldn't listen, and while he didn't know what the relationship between the two was, he did know that Clint would take care of Tony.

 

"No way he's allowed in the workshop right now. Ideally he shouldn't even stand," He was careful not to say 'on that leg' because he knew Tony would take him literally. He pictured a determined Tony hopping his way through the halls of Stark Tower. Not a good idea. "For a few days, or he might reopen the wound and lose a stitch. I don't know if that'll happen or not, though. He's not the best patient."

 

Ignoring Tony's huffed " _He_ is right here, you know," Clint looked thoughtful for a moment.

 

"Watch him for a minute?"

 

Bruce nodded. Clint disappeared into the vents while Tony crossed his arms and pouted. He swung his legs idly and looked around the room, planning an escape.

 

Fortunately, Bruce wasn't forced to let the Hulk out to stop Tony because Clint came back quickly, pushing a small mountain of pillows and blankets ahead of him, clutching a Tupperware container in between his teeth.

 

Again refusing to comment, Bruce held up his bloodstained hands. "You got him? I need to go clean up..."

 

At Clint's nod, Bruce retreated to the bathroom, hearing Clint threaten to sit on Tony to make him stay. He couldn't help but smile at his lab partner's antics, glad he wasn't the one having to deal with him this time.

 

Yawning, Bruce decided he might as well get ready for bed at the same time. It had been a long day, after all. He was sure Clint could take care of Tony on his own.

 

Once he was done, he headed back out into the living room to check on his teammates.

 

He was surprised to find that Clint had pushed the two couches together (ones that Tony had insisted on buying for him) and piled all the bedding on top. When Bruce looked at it a certain way, it almost looked like a... nest.

 

Tony was right in the middle of it, all bundled up, his eyes half closed, almost asleep. Clint was sitting right behind him, cuddling him protectively, guiding a piece of celery to his mouth.

 

Bruce didn't comment; he picked up the one blanket that had fallen off and tucked it around the two. Tony's eyes closed completely once he finished his mouthful and Clint nodded at him. Bruce nodded back. If anyone had told him that this would be his life, he would never have believed them.

 

It was a good life though.

 

And if Bruce caught Tony sneaking into his workshop the next day, well, at least he knew who to call.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Sometime later, after Tony had healed, when the two of them had just finished an engineering binge and were sitting companionably on the couch, he decided to ask.

 

"So why does Clint call you his bird-son?"

 

Tony looked at him, then looked away. It was a very clear sign of dismissal. At least he hadn't left. Or thrown anything.   


Bruce got the hint and didn't mention it again.

 

He did consider asking Natasha about the bird-family; apparently she was a part of it too, but he rejected the idea immediately. He didn't want to see her reaction to that.

 

Oh well. Maybe he'd never find out. Which was alright with him, if that meant he didn't have to be a part of it.


	3. Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper is a gift and the whole Marvel universe doesn't deserve her.

The sound of the elevator made Natasha tense and grab the gun hidden in the couch. Bruce was with her in the living room, Clint and Tony were in the vents, and although Steve was on his floor, he never used the elevator if he could help it, instead preferring to use the stairs. So she couldn’t be positive that the approaching person was a friend.

 

Click. Click. Click.

 

The sound made Natasha relax, subtly sliding the gun back into its place. She had a policy of not letting Pepper know just how many weapons were secreted about the Tower.

 

Besides, although the two of them had had a rough start, they were actually friends now. Pepper appreciated having a calm, rational person around who was able to help corral Tony when needed, and Natasha, although more than capable of holding her own with the boys, liked having a friend who was untouched by the horrors the rest of the them had lived through, yet wasn’t put off by her past.

 

The Pepper who strode into the room wasn’t as calm as she usually was, however. She was frowning, exasperated, and carrying a large stack of paperwork.

 

Nodding at Natasha, forgoing any small talk, Pepper dove straight into the reason she was at the Tower. “Where’s Tony? He was supposed to sign all of these last week, and the board is starting to get antsy!”

 

Bruce looked up, startled. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

 

Natasha smirked before saying, “He’s in the vents.”

 

Pepper didn’t even look surprised. “Close to this entrance?”

 

“As far as I know.” She knew that the rest of her bird-family tended to sleep in the nest closest to where the rest of the team was. It made them feel better knowing that if something went wrong they could be there quickly.

 

Natasha should have known better than to expect Pepper to give up when faced with the quirks of the eccentric billionaire. She just marched towards the grate, only sighing once.

 

Natasha had to admit, if only to herself, that she was surprised when, once reaching the wall, Pepper simply said, “JARVIS,” and sections of the wall extended to form a small staircase. She was careful to hide that, though.

 

Bruce wasn’t as skilled at that. “What?” He gasped. “Has that been there the whole time?”

 

Pepper turned a droll face on them. “You really think I’m going to climb up a ladder in my skirt if I don’t absolutely have to?” She continued, “It’s not like Tony hasn’t done this before.”

 

Suddenly, Natasha remembered just exactly what Tony was doing in the vents. Judging by the look on Bruce’s face, so did he.

 

It wasn’t like Natasha didn’t trust Pepper, but Tony wasn’t exactly going around broadcasting the fact that he was adopted into an unorthodox family. As far as she knew, Bruce was the only non-family member who knew, and that was because Tony had needed medical attention.

 

It was too late to do anything though, as Pepper had already climbed the steps to the entrance of the vents, removed the cover, and stuck her head in.

 

Natasha watched, slightly apprehensive. She knew that Pepper was experienced at dealing with all aspects of Tony Stark, but she also knew that if Pepper, one of Tony’s closest friends, reacted in any way negatively, Tony would withdraw from them all.

 

So she was glad that Pepper did nothing but climb down, leaving the paperwork in the vent, a slight smile on her face.

 

“Would you please get Clint to make sure Tony signs those? Tonight?”

 

Natasha nodded, just as Pepper’s phone rang. Excusing herself, Pepper left the room, her heels clicking.

 

Natasha looked at Bruce. Bruce looked at Natasha. Then he shrugged and said, “I’m sure Tony won’t mind her knowing.” And he went back to his work on his tablet.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Clint had cheerfully gotten Tony to finish the dreaded paperwork, bribing him with homemade apple chocolate chip cookies. He had expected that to be the end of it, however. He definitely wasn’t expecting Pepper to show up at the range one day while he was practicing, carrying another stack of papers.

 

“You’ve proven you can get Tony to do his paperwork. I don’t know how you’re doing it, and I don’t care, as long as you’re not threatening him.” She dropped the stack of papers next to his duffle bag. “See that he signs these, too, please.”

 

She turned on one of her high, high heels and clicked away.

 

Clint walked over and looked through the paperwork curiously. He grimaced when he saw all the legal jargon in it. No wonder Tony put off filling this shit out.

 

He sighed quietly. Could he bribe Tony with more apple chocolate chip cookies, or would he have to try another flavor?

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Pepper came to collect the paperwork later that night, after Clint had plied Tony with homemade hot chocolate. She inspected the paperwork, then smiled, leaning down to give the brunet a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for actually doing this in a timely fashion this time, Tony.”

 

Tony beamed at her like he hadn’t when given a mug of hot chocolate. Clint wouldn’t lie; he was a little jealous. “You're welcome,” he cut in, before Tony could say anything.

 

Tony looked betrayed that he would steal the opportunity to say thank you from him.

 

“Oh, of course,” Pepper said, as if remembering he was there, and walked over to press a kiss to his cheek too. “Thank you, Clint.”

 

Clint could kind of understand why Tony grinned like he’d gotten everything he wanted after Pepper had kissed his cheek. Pepper was a busy and quite powerful woman. He felt like he could take on the world.

 

“Also, please start bringing Tony’s buckwheat pillow into the vents if he’s going to sleep there,” she ordered idly, looking through the paperwork to see if it had been filled out correctly. “He needs more support for his neck and shoulders than the throw pillows are going to give him.”

 

Clint squinted at her. “What the hell is a buckwheat pillow? That sounds so pretentious.”

 

“Well maybe if Mr. I-think-I-have-the-body-of-a-twenty-year-old took care of himself, he wouldn’t have to use a pretentious pillow,” Pepper drawled, ruffling Tony’s hair. “I’ll see you at the meeting on Thursday, okay?”

 

“You’ve betrayed me,” Tony complained. “Now I have to explain what buckwheat is. I’m writing you out of my will.”

 

“Okay,” Pepper replied, unconcerned. “I’ll just leave you to explain to Clint why you need a buckwheat pillow for your strained muscles and stiff upper body.”

 

She turned and left, smiling a little when she heard Clint’s outraged squawk. It was nice that someone else was making sure Tony was okay. She couldn’t be around all the time to make sure he was eating and resting properly. Especially not now, after—

 

Well. Especially not now.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Pepper felt a little let down when the meeting began and Tony was no where to be found. She’d thought that Clint would have… But then, this wasn’t Clint’s problem. It was wrong of her to depend on him, however subconsciously, to get Tony to the meeting. She was lucky that he’d gotten Tony to do all of his paperwork.

 

Pepper jumped when she heard a creaking noise and looked up to find Tony swinging out of the vent above the table. He dropped down on top of it and spread his hands in a little ‘tada’ motion. “I’m only two minutes late. They’re not even finished comparing how great their grandchildren are.”

 

“Sorry,” Clint said from the vent. “I spilled my coffee on him, so he had to change.”

 

Pepper had to try very hard not to squeak happily and clap. Tony was only a couple minutes late. That was better than him not coming at all. His being late hadn’t been his fault, apparently—and he had shown up in a clean shirt. This was already better than the time he crashed into the meeting two hours late and wearing the Iron Man armor.

 

“Thank you, Clint,” she said, pleased. “And thank you for getting him to his meeting on time.”

 

“Of course,” Clint replied, looking smug. “It wouldn’t do for the bird-family to be late unless it’s to a mission debrief. Tardiness is not something we want to be known for.”

 

Pepper stared, unimpressed. “The bird-family.”

 

Tony looked tired. “It’s… a thing.”

 

She turned to look at him. “Is it a bad thing?”

 

The brunet tilted his head thoughtfully. “Mostly he just feeds me and makes me sleep?”

 

“Oh. Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. I’m glad,” she said happily. “Keep up the good work, Clint.”

 

Clint continued to look smug, pulling the grate shut. “Have a good meeting.”

 

“If I was going to have a good meeting, it would be by not being here,” Tony stated, looking very put out as he was dragged down into a seat.

 

Pepper shoved him down into the seat before he could escape, whispering, “If I have to suffer through these meetings, you have to suffer through these meetings.”

 

“Such betrayal,” Tony whispered back, scowling. “You should have let one of us live.”

 

Pepper gave him a grin that was all teeth. “Didn’t you hear Clint? The bird-family doesn’t want to be known for tardiness.”

 

“ _Betrayal,_ ” Tony hissed again, before he was drawn into a conversation with Mrs. McKillop about her granddaughter making it onto her school’s volleyball team.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Clint stared up at his ceiling. For once he was in his bed. Tony had had to travel abroad, for some major SI meeting, and it just felt wrong to be in the nest without him.

 

He grumbled and rolled over. He had gotten far too used to having his bird-son with him. Not having seen him in a week was killing him.

 

At least on missions there was the rush of adrenaline and the distraction of being in a new place. But being in the Tower was a whole different thing. He hadn’t had a good night’s rest since Tony had left.

 

For a while he had pestered Natasha, but she got fed up with that pretty quick. Which was why he was in his room instead of the range. She had threatened to destroy his bow if he didn’t spend at least six hours lying down.

 

Clint rolled over, trying to get comfortable. Then he heard a sound on his floor and tensed. There wasn’t supposed to be anybody here. He grabbed the knife that was under his pillow and slipped out of his bed, preparing himself for whatever walked through that door.

 

The sound resolved into talking. It sounded suspiciously like whining.

 

“He’s sleeping, I’m not going to bother him! I can manage just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

 

Clint relaxed as he recognized the voice. It was Tony.

 

Wait.

 

It was Tony!

 

Grinning, he flung open the door. Pepper didn’t even look surprised, she just shoved an exhausted looking Tony into his arms.

 

“He’s slept less than five hours during the last week, and that was under heavy coercion. You’ve slept less than two hours a day during the last week, and never dropped into REM sleep. Neither of you are to come out of the vents until you’ve slept at least twelve hours, and even then, you are only allowed to come out to eat. Goodnight.”

 

She turned around and walked away. She looked almost as tired as Tony.

 

Clint looked at the half-asleep genius who was slumped in his arms. Tony looked petulant, as if during the week he was gone he had somehow convinced himself that he would be forgotten, and he didn’t want to risk rejection.

 

Completely ignoring the feelings that brought up, Clint hugged Tony tight. “Come on, the nest’s all ready and I’m about to drop. Let’s go to bed.” He tugged Tony towards the wall and helped him climb inside, Tony too tired to protest the need for help.

 

As they got ready for sleep, Tony held tight to Clint’s shirt, reassuring himself that this was real. Clint smiled down at his bird-son, glad that Pepper had chosen to fly back during the night instead of sleeping at the hotel, and that she had brought Tony to him.

 

Pressing a paternal kiss to Tony’s forehead, Clint whispered. “I missed you.”

 

The way that Tony snuggled deeper into his arms let him know that the feeling was reciprocated.


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thought he had trouble adjusting to the future. It was nothing compared to trying to wrap his head around Tony and Clint.

Steve thought that he was getting the hang of this future thing. He knew how to use a cellphone, at least to make calls. The texting part of it he was still having difficulty with. What was the point of all these abbreviations?

 

He’d gotten used to people only interacting with others through technology, he’d gotten used to what were now in every house (like TVs. TVs were great. And microwaves. He loved microwaves.) He’d even gotten used to having an all-seeing, all-knowing artificial intelligence in the ceiling.

 

He didn’t know if he could ever get used to Tony Stark though.

 

He loved the guy, he really did. But every time he thought he’d got the guy figured out, Tony’d do something completely unexpected that threw him for a loop.

 

At first, he’d loved that idea of meeting someone who had a connection to his past. He looked forward to reminiscing with him about Howard and Peggy and the Commandos.

 

That never happened. 

 

After the reaction to that conversation, now he sometimes hesitated to even _think_ the name Howard.

 

Then he started trying to build a friendship with the man. But every time he invited Tony to do something, he was shot down. It didn’t matter what it was, Tony never had any time for him.

So he decided that, even if Tony didn’t want to be his friend, at least they could have a good professional relationship.

 

Steve had been in charge of people before, he could do this.

 

He hadn’t been in charge of people as stubborn as Tony though.

 

Tony never showed the proper respect to the authorities. During debriefings, the ones he actually showed up to, he was either mouthing off, or focused on his tablet.

 

He constantly showed no regard for his safety, flying directly in the path of thrown or fallen objects, taking the brunt of attacks, putting his own life at risk. Even though he usually ended up saving the day, Steve didn’t think it was worth it.

 

The worst of it, though, Steve thought, was that he seemed incapable of taking care of himself. He could go days without sleep, spending hours on end in his workshop, rarely pausing for a meal.

 

Steve tried his best to take care of him, he really did. But although he could bring food to Tony, he couldn’t make Tony eat. He didn’t dare try carrying Tony to bed, and he would never even think of drugging him.

 

But Steve kept trying. He cooked new foods, trying to find ones that appealed to Tony. When he got locked out of the lab for pestering him too much, Steve would get one of the others to bring the plate to him. After battles, he would try to manoeuvre things so that there was food available when they were all together.

 

And after a while, during which Steve felt like giving up, but didn’t, because he too was a stubborn brat, Steve noticed that things were going better. The bags under Tony’s eyes were slowly fading. He smiled at the team more, especially Clint. The two of them had a great budding friendship that Steve approved of. And Tony even started to gain some weight. He even stopped throwing himself into harm’s way every single mission.

 

Which was why Steve was so disappointed when things started to change for the worse. 

 

Tony started spending more time in his workshop, started snapping grumpily at everyone, drank coffee instead of eating, and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. 

 

Steve didn’t say anything, hoping it was a minor setback. But he kept a close eye on Tony. As team leader, it was his responsibility to make sure that all members of the team were at their best.

 

And he was worried, as a friend.

 

He decided enough was enough when Tony nearly died during a battle.

 

Clint had been away on a mission for Fury, so they were already down a man. And then Tony ignored his direct order and flew directly into a dampening field that had already been proven to have an adverse effect on the reactor. 

 

He managed to turn the machine off, but that sent out a burst of energy that powered down the suit. 

 

And the arc reactor.

 

Steve immediately flashed back to the battle of New York, the first time Tony had been dead in front of him.

 

Fortunately, Bruce was nearby, he hadn’t had the time to turn into the Hulk, and was able to get it going again.

 

But Steve had had enough. He didn’t want to lose one of the only friends he had in this century. He decided that he needed to have a serious talk with the resident billionaire.

 

That night, after everyone except Tony had eaten supper, he went down to the workshop. Thankfully, Tony hadn’t thought to engage blackout mode. He probably thought that he'd be left alone to recover or something.

 

Steve slipped into the workshop warily. He was still sometimes intimidated by the level of sheer work that Tony did. There were always blueprints of something up _somewhere_ and the ‘bots were constantly moving around the room wielding wrenches, spare parts, or fire extinguishers.

 

Also one time he’d come in and everything had been covered in motor oil—Tony, the ‘bots, the floors, the walls, most of the tables. He had turned on his heel and left then, because Tony had been yelling and the ‘bots had made this screeching noise that sounded like screaming and that was a mess that he didn’t even _want_ to understand.

 

Nothing was covered in oil today. In fact, Tony was sitting at a table and staring into nothingness, two of the ‘bots sitting like silent sentinels beside him. He wondered if Tony did this a lot after near-death experiences.

 

Steve cleared his throat as he approached. “Tony, I’d like to have some words.”

 

“I can point you in the direction of a dictionary if you really want some,” Tony replied, not turning to face him.

 

Sometimes Steve wanted to shake him. He’d almost died, and here he was making jokes. Steve grabbed his shoulder and turned the brunet on his chair.

 

Tony yelped quietly as he lost his balance, the hand on his shoulder sending him to the floor. “Ow!”

 

Steve hurriedly helped him up, but inside, he was mortified. He was mostly used to his body, but sometimes he did things like… accidentally throw people to the ground.

 

He was working on it.

 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?!”

 

Tony brushed some dust off of his shirt, frowning. “’m fine. It’s not like that time Natasha startled you and you threw her across the kitchen.”

 

Steve blushed brightly. That had also been an accident. He was lucky that Natasha had been more impressed than annoyed. Sometimes she frightened him.

 

Tony patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

 

“Okay, yes, we’re fine,” Steve agreed, even as he checked to make sure he hadn’t broken Tony’s… anything.

 

Tony shoved his hands away from his left thigh, sighing loudly in annoyance. “Was there a reason you came down here? I was busy doing… something. Important.”

 

That was probably something he’d never understand—Tony’s apparent need to tell him bald-faced lies. “You weren’t doing anything.”

 

“How would you know? You still read books made out of paper.”

 

Steve frowned. “What? That doesn’t make any—You know what, no, I’m not even going to go there. Tony, you need to take better care of yourself.”

 

Tony sighed. “Here we go.”

 

“I mean it!” Steve exclaimed, annoyed. “It’s one thing to be a danger to yourself, but you left Natasha’s back wide open!”

 

“She was fine.”

 

“But she might not have been, and then where would we be? Down Natasha—”

 

Tony snorted. “Natasha would never—”

 

“— _And_ you!" Steve finished, not allowing the brunet to talk over him this time. “Tony, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but when someone almost dies and then refuses going to medical, it’s a cause for concern!”

 

Tony glared up at him, stubborn as ever. “I didn’t go to medical because I’m _fine._ I don’t know why you don’t trust me, a grown ass man that has been alive longer than you, to take care of myself!”

 

“As you like to remind me, I’m almost ninety years old,” Steve snapped back at him.

 

“And only actually awake for like, twenty-five of those years. Face it, fancy-pants, I’ve got more life experience than you!”

 

Not for the first time, Steve wanted to scream. “That doesn’t mean anything when you _still can’t take care of yourself!_ ”

 

Tony stood up straighter, shoulders taut. His mouth opened, then shut it, like he was too angry to speak. He made a noise that promised a lot of swearing in the near future.

 

Steve straightened his shoulders to prepare for the onslaught. Then he yelped when something dropped down in front of him, jumping backward.

 

“I’m home!” Clint crowed, spreading his arms out. He blinked when he saw Steve. “…You’re not Tony.” He turned, saw Tony, and grinned. “I’m home!”

 

Tony crossed his arms and huffed.

 

Clint cooed, reaching out to pinch his cheeks, and didn’t complain when his hands were viciously slapped away. “You can’t fool me, Tony! You’re my bird-son, so I can tell—You’re happy I’m home!”

 

“Bird-son?” Steve repeated quietly, confused.

 

Clint whipped around to face him. “Yes. My bird-son. I’m taking him now.”

 

“But—” Steve began, but then suddenly the blond was dragging Tony back up through a vent.

 

Tony struggled a little, squawking in outrage, but then Clint hissed, “I’ve been in touch with Natasha and you can’t fucking fool me you little shit.” Tony made a sad sound as he was finally pulled into the vent and Clint pulled it closed.

 

Steve stared at the closed grate, brows furrowed together in confusion. What had just happened?

 

It sounded like Natasha knew what was going on, maybe he should ask her.

_Beep._

 

Steve jumped and turned, hand clutching his chest. He sighed in relief when he saw Dum-E standing next to him. He eyed the glass that was being held out to him. It was full of green liquid. “Is that for me?”

 

Dum-E beeped again, inching closer so that the glass was easily reachable. He stared at the glass a little longer. He’d never eaten anything like it before. He’d seen Tony drink them, though, so it had to be good, right?

 

He accepted the glass. “Thank you, Dum-E.”

 

Dum-E beeped happily and retreated a few feet to give him ample space to drink it.

 

It tasted really... chalky. And had a weird aftertaste. He grimaced and looked at the empty glass. Tony drank these all the time? Gross.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“I’m dying,” Steve decided, bent over his toilet.

 

Tony frowned, rubbing his back. “Sorry, Steve.”

 

“Dum-E murdered me.”

 

“You’ll be fine.”

 

Steve shuddered. “How do I even have anything left to vomit?”

 

Tony patted him on the head awkwardly. “It was just a little motor oil. Your serum will pump it out. You’ll be fine.” He jumped when the blond lunged forward, puking into the toilet again, then looked up at the vent desperately.

 

Clint scowled at him.

 

Tony sighed, turning back to rub the super soldier’s back again. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Dum-E’s tendency to try and poison the people he likes.”

 

“Blurgh,” Steve replied, before he bent forward again.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Steve shuffled his feet nervously.

 

Natasha kept staring at him, one eyebrow quirked. “And _why_ are you asking me this?”

 

“I thought that you might know?”

 

“And do you _really_ want to know the answer?”

 

Steve shuffled his feet some more. “…Yes?”

 

“Was that a question or an answer?”

 

“It was answer! I really am curious about the bird-son thing!”

 

Natasha stared at him some more. Steve felt like he was an errant schoolboy again, standing in front of his teacher.

 

Not that Steve Rogers ever got into trouble.

 

Of course not, that would just be ridiculous.

 

Natasha finally huffed a breath and answered Steve. “Maybe that’s something you should be asking my bird-brother.”

 

Steve literally felt his reality tilt. This made no sense at all.

 

“Your… Your bird… brother?”

 

“Yes. My bird-brother.”

 

At Steve’s blank look, she elaborated some more. “Tony. Tony is my bird-brother.” With that she left the room, leaving Steve even more confused than he was at the beginning of the conversation.

 

He was never going to understand this century.


	5. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony give Bucky chest pains without even knowing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be Civil War compliant because I don't want to deal with all that nonsense. This is a happy series and I will not have this blight upon the Marvel universe in my house. (I mean it's fine if you liked that movie but I walked away from it full of anger and disappointment.)

Bucky

 

Steve Rogers lived in a big ugly building that looked like a monument to someone’s ineptitude in bed. He shared the personal quarters part of the building with five other people: Natalia Romanov, the Black Widow; Clint Barton, Hawkeye; Thor, an apparent god who spent his time between New York and New Mexico; Dr. Bruce Banner, a man who turned into a big green monster called the Hulk; and Tony Stark, the owner of the building, provider of weapons and armor, and quite possibly the most oblivious man on the planet.

 

Bucky had done recon on all of them, of course. He was no idiot. He remembered Natalia, vaguely. It was mostly the sensation of almost having his neck broken by powerful thighs. That was not something he wanted to experience again, because he was at least eighty percent certain that she would try to actually break his neck instead of just training with him. Watching her only steeled his nerve to never got caught spying on her. She’d punched Barton in the throat when he’d startled her, and she _liked_ Barton.

 

Thor and Dr. Banner were also avoided. Thor was dangerous and unpredictable, and always had his weapon at his beck and call. Dr. Banner also had his weapon at his beck and call, no matter how much the man hated it. Bucky could not find a weakness for the Hulk. He maintained very careful distance between them.

 

He tried to keep an eye on Barton, but Barton spent a lot of time in the vents. Or the dumpster. Quite frankly, he was worried about how often Barton ended up in the dumpster. Sometimes he accidentally fell through the garbage chute, and sometimes he was shoved in the dumpster by his enemies. It was quite concerning.

 

Sometimes Barton left the dumpster with ratty blankets and gave them to Natalia. And she accepted them.

 

He had so many questions.

 

What worried him the most was Stark. Stark, even outside of being Iron Man, was a high profile person. He owned Stark Industries, held more patents than most people put together, and was quite possibly the most sought-after man in the world. He was hailed on the street by men and women alike.

 

He was also tailed by lots and lots of would-be kidnappers and assassins.

 

Bucky literally watched a man try to snatch Stark off the street and was foiled by Stark pivoting to get coffee. The kidnapper had gone stumbling into a light pole and knocked himself out. Stark had come back out of the shop with coffee and been concerned by all the people surrounding the knocked-out man.

 

How was this idiot still alive?

 

Bucky scowled as he watched the latest comedy of errors, a woman trying to use her feminine wiles to disarm him and then Stark promptly giving her an allergic reaction with a kiss on the cheek laced with his hazelnut latté. Stark was the wild card. He didn’t even realize when he was in danger most of the time.

 

He would need to study the brunet more before he made his next move with Rogers.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Bucky had assumed that following Stark would be an easy task. This was not the case.

 

Stark would be on his way to a meeting, _getting chauffeured,_ and suddenly the car would stop and he’d spring out and duck into a deli or bakery or, most notably, a ceramics shop. Sometimes Stark would take a walk, get distracted, and wander off like a small child. Bucky had, on multiple occasions, been walking right behind him and then poof! Stark would vanish. It was quite irksome. He was an excellent assassin and spy. This should have been easy.

 

It was not.

 

Bucky cursed quietly under his breath as he tried to find the brunet with his scope again. How could Rogers stand to live with this person? He didn’t even know Stark, and he was already starting to get pains in his chest from the stress of tailing him. Surely there was no one in the world as oblivious as Stark. Children had more spatial awareness. Newborn _babies_ had more spatial awareness, and they were blind.

 

“This guy’s gonna give me a heart attack,” he muttered when he finally got Stark back in his sight. “Bless you, Rogers.”

 

Rogers and Stark did not walk together often, but when they did, Stark wandered off and Rogers did his best to wrangle him. It didn’t actually work most of the time, but at least Rogers kept up with him. Bucky, unfortunately, could not always say he did the same.

 

Bucky stiffened when he saw a man dressed as a hobo approach Stark. He could see just from the way he was standing that it was an undercover assassin. He aimed his rifle at the man’s heart.

 

Stark stuffed a few bills into the assassin’s cup. The hobo looked at his cup, looked at Stark, said something, then turned to leave.

 

Bucky got a look at the bills. They were hundreds.

 

“Oh my God,” he whispered as the assassin tossed his costume in the trash and slid into a generic, unremarkable car. Stark had unknowingly paid off an assassin. “How in the fuck.”

 

Stark had disappeared while he’d been watching the assassin. God damn it.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Tailing Stark on the ground was the most effective way to keep steady surveillance on him. He kept to alleyways and shadows, but that actually wasn’t out of the ordinary for New York. Nobody noticed him. He was kind of grateful, because nobody gave him a second glance when he cursed and hustled when he lost sight of Stark.

 

He felt his heart stop when he glanced up just in time to see a man try to stab a knife into Stark’s side. Stark bent over to tie his shoe. The assassin _squeaked_ as he went tumbling over him.

 

“Oh,” Stark said, frowning. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

 

“I—” the assassin began, pushing himself up off the sidewalk. “I’m fine. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 

Bucky watched the assassin limp away. He’d stabbed himself in the thigh when he’d tripped.

 

He clutched his chest, then let out a long, slow sigh. “I’m too old for this shit.” He’d been too old for this shit seventy years ago.

 

Stark stood up, frowning. “Are you injured? I can pay—”

 

“No, no!” the man called back, smile just on the edge of a grimace. “Just got a hitch in my get-along!”

 

Stark watched him limp away. “…The fuck is a gitalong.”

 

“…Way too old for this shit,” Bucky whispered as he began tailing the businessman again.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

AIM was probably the most useless organization in the world. Bucky was disgusted by how easy it was to scare off the people they sent to kidnap Stark.

 

He’d _sneered_ at a girl and she’d bolted in the other direction. Yes, he had an incredible bitch face, but he hadn’t even gotten to threaten her properly. Villains were a lot tougher back in his day.

 

Bucky paused to lean his head against a wall and mourn the fact that he’d thought that without any irony. What was his life.

 

A man was walking past him, cutting through the alleyway much like the girl had. He reached out to grab him by the collar, spinning him around.

 

The man yelped, juggling his gun, then pointed it at him, hands shaking. “Stay back!”

 

Bucky sighed. The safety was on. “Why don’t you just leave Stark alone today?”

 

“We need him!” the man exclaimed desperately. “For a ray gun we’re developing!” He straightened his shoulders, forced his hands to stop shaking.

 

The gun’s safety was still on.

 

“Pathetic,” Bucky commented, disappointed.

 

The man glared at him. “Who the hell _are_ you, anyway?!”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but perk up. He hadn’t gotten to properly threaten someone in months. He schooled his face into his most dangerous and took a few steps toward him. “I’m the Winter Soldier.”

 

The man stared at him, agape, before he let out a scream and bolted, gun falling uselessly to the ground. Bucky raged for a second. _It wasn’t even fucking loaded._

 

Bucky lifted his gaze to give the man one last glare just in time to see him accidentally bash into Stark before he turned a corner and continued fleeing. The momentum of the collision sent Stark out into the street, in front of a cab.

 

Bucky could not help the little shriek that escaped his mouth. He’d been trying to keep Stark _alive!_

 

Stark stumbled, hands flying up to keep his balance. The taxi screeched to a stop, just barely pushing him so he fell up on the hood of the car and then slid back off, falling to the ground. People started to rush out to help him, and the cab driver leapt out of his car to ask if he was okay.

 

Stark popped up, looking harried, and dusted himself off. “I’m okay! Whoa, what even—Did anyone see what happened?”

 

“I think a man believed he was being mugged and he accidentally pushed you as he ran away,” a teenager said earnestly. That was the girl from AIM that he’d threatened. She looked star-struck. “May I have your autograph?”

 

Stark took the pen and paper she was holding. “Ah, poor guy. Must be his first time in New York. Probably from the Midwest. Who am I making this out to, sweetheart?”

 

“Bethany,” the teen said breathlessly, as if she hadn’t been plotting to try and kidnap him earlier. Bucky could still see the knife hidden in her purse. “Will you go out on a date with me?!”

 

tark laughed as he handed the pen and paper back to her. “Your parents would kill me. And then they might kill you.”

 

“Yeah, but I would have been on a date with Tony Stark beforehand!” Bethany complained, pouting. Then she beamed at him. “Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

 

Stark waved at her as she dashed away, still smiling. “Ah, kids. I don’t remember being that forward when I was a teenager.”

 

A woman with red hair and beautiful cream-colored business suit pulled him back onto the sidewalk. Bucky recognized her as Virginia Potts. She was ranked as a level two threat. “Jim says you had no game whatsoever as a teenager. So you probably couldn’t afford to be forward.”

 

Stark clutched his chest as he frowned up at her. “Pep! You should know when Rhodey-bear is slandering me!”

 

Pep gave him an acidic look. “We’re going to miss lunch if you don’t hurry up.”

 

Bucky would never fail to be confused by how a man as rich and powerful as Stark could be controlled by even the _concept_ of food. Also, that girl had turned on her organization rather quickly. Was that normal these days? She was like. Twelve. Okay, probably more like nineteen, but seriously? Selling out for an autograph?

 

Bucky moved back to lean his head against the wall again and sighed miserably. What even _was_ this time?

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Since Stark seemed to have Staying Alive well enough in hand (even though he usually didn’t know _how_ ), Bucky turned his attention to the Tower itself. The security was not easy to bypass, but he enjoyed having to work for something, since so far his foes had been ridiculously easy to frighten.

 

He was very curious as to what was in the vents that Barton and Stark always disappeared into. Hell, sometimes Natalia slipped through the vents—never for long, but sometimes carrying a box of snacks that she didn’t come back out with.

 

Bucky had just made it into the vents that opened up to the Avengers’ common room when something went skittering past his hand. He turned, whipping out a knife.

 

A tiny robot looked at him from the wall of the vent. It looked like it had a camera for a head. It whirred.

 

“…Hello,” Bucky said awkwardly, because it didn’t look threatening, and he wasn’t certain that it wasn’t connected to the building’s security system. He didn’t want to raise an alarm by crushing it. Yet.

 

The tiny robot lifted one of its legs to wiggle it at him, like a wave, and then skittered off with another whirr.

 

Bucky had to take a moment to get a hold of himself. Assassins didn’t think things were adorable. Especially not tiny robots with cameras for heads. Even if it had waved at him in greeting.

 

What the fuck was his life.

 

Well. He had a job to do and a small window in which to do it. He took a deep breath and began crawling again, this time keeping an eye out for tiny, skittering robots.

 

The pile of blankets and pillows he stumbled upon was not what he expected. It was a rough circle that spanned the entire width of the vent. There was even a big red cooler. He peeked inside of it.

 

Who needed that many protein shakes!?

 

Bucky shook his head. This was no time to be distracted. He was in enemy territory.

 

He began investigating the pile in earnest, picking up blankets and pillows and even examining seams to check if they were hiding something. He came up with nothing except a tablet that looked to be only used for Netflix. That was the only app on it. It wasn’t even password protected.

 

Bucky sat back on the blankets, stone-faced. When would he find something to do with Stark that he understood? Surely there must be _something_ normal about the man.

 

Bucky heard the sound of someone shuffling their way towards him. He didn’t have time to crawl to another vent opening to hide in. He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around him, pulling a pillow down to cover his head. He hoped it wasn’t Natalia. She would stab first and ask questions later.

 

Someone put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Give!” They pulled at his blanket, but it was like a sleepy kitten trying to take it.

 

“No,” he said gruffly, then froze, because he knew he didn’t even sound close to Barton or Stark.

 

There was a sad whine. “Mean.” Then the person cuddled up against his back. They soon started snoring.

 

Bucky went stone-faced again. If this was Stark, he was going to pitch an unholy fit. He pulled his head out from under the pillow and glanced over his shoulder. He scowled.

 

Did Stark never worry about his life? No wonder he had to be bullied out of his workshop by literally everyone.

 

Sighing, he began to wriggle his way out of the blanket, deciding it would be better to make an escape now. The other man whined and cuddled closer to him, even wrapping an arm around him.

 

“What the fuck,” he hissed, unable to hold it back. He tried to get Stark’s hand to unclench, but he let out a very stubborn sound and muscled him back down. “Stark, you little shit!”

 

Stark scowled in his sleep and cuddled him more aggressively. It was the most aggressive he had ever seen the man. It was kind of sad.

 

Bucky froze when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head. Shit. He’d probably made tons of noise and everyone in the tower had heard it.

 

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Barton hissed. “Tony will get really mad if he has to clean blood and brain matter out of the vents.”

 

Bucky hysterically thought that that sounded like he was speaking from experience. What _happened_ in these vents?

 

“But if you _do_ wake my child,” Barton told him acidly. “I _will_ blow your brains out.”

 

“What,” Bucky said before he could stop himself.

 

Barton pulled the gun away so he could turn to see him glaring at him. “He is my bird-son.”

 

“What,” Bucky repeated, because that hadn’t explained anything.

 

Barton began tugging at the blanket he’d wrapped himself in so he could tuck it around Stark. Stark made a happy sound and cuddled further into the blanket so they could only see the tuft of his hair. He squirmed closer to Bucky’s back.

 

Bucky stared at him incredulously.

 

Barton glared at him mulishly before he finally mumbled, “…You get used to it.”

 

When Stark woke a few hours later and finally released him, Bucky scrambled away without even a backward glance. Barton was yelling, something along the lines of ‘I am your bird-mother how could you betray me like this I expected better from you!’ Stark apparently wasn’t awake enough to use words because he mostly just answered in very confused sounds.

 

Bucky understood how Barton got stuck in the dumpster so often; it was the fastest way out of the building when you were in the vents.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Bucky, of course, tried to drop off of the map. He was caught. Security would be increased and Rogers—Rogers would come looking for him, and he wasn’t ready to see him again. Not yet. So of course he walked into Stark.

 

Or, rather, Stark walked into him.

 

It was like being hit with an empty plastic bag. Stark fell back on his ass.

 

Bucky despaired. For a man that flew around in a metal suit, he was very small. “Why.”

 

“Why what?” Stark snapped, standing up and rubbing the small of his back. “Ow.”

 

“How are you even still alive?” Bucky asked him.

 

Stark drew himself up like an offended peacock. “Perseverance!”

 

The assassin sighed. He understood why Clint sometimes (a lot of times) looked tired when dealing with Stark.

 

Stark looked him up and down, then bristled. “So you’re the Winter Soldier everyone’s been talking about. Are you here to kill me?”

 

Bucky really, sincerely doubted he would be able to, based purely on Stark’s dumb luck. “No. I only have one shirt without blood on it anymore. I don’t want to have no shirts without blood on them.”

 

Stark seemed to bristle even more. “Why? What’s wrong with me that you don’t want to put in the effort? I’ll have you know I can be just as dangerous as Steve, and you tried to kill him!”

 

“Why are you this way,” the assassin lamented. “Most people _don’t_ want to be killed.”

 

“I am not most people!” Stark screeched, and was not surprised at all when no one else on the street looked at them, because apparently even the people of New York were more used to Stark than Bucky. “Not that I want to be killed, of course. I’d just like you to feel properly threatened.”

 

Bucky had had a kitten-weak Stark attempt to pull a blanket off of him and then snuggle him aggressively. He could not feel threatened by a man who had no idea he was cuddling one of the world’s most feared assassins and just wanted to be hugged. Bucky gave Stark one last, tired look before he walked past him, back to his hideout, so he could gather his meager belongings and find another safe house.

 

Stark trotted after him. “Hey! Hey! You didn’t say you were threatened!”

 

“How can anyone be threatened by a man who is terrified of his girlfriend?”

 

“Pepper’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Stark spat acidly. “And besides, everyone’s afraid of Pepper!”

 

Bucky filed that piece of information away. They were pretty chummy for being exes. And, yes, he conceded that everyone was at least a little afraid of Pepper. Natalia was even afraid of Pepper. “Alright. Still, you fell asleep on me without even realizing I wasn’t Barton.”

 

“I have fallen asleep on everyone at least once without realizing they were Clint!”

 

“Yes, but I could have easily killed you.”

 

Stark scoffed at him. Loudly. “Literally everyone on the team can easily kill me. Natasha’s stabbed me in the neck before and I still fall asleep on her!”

 

Bucky stopped to stare into the distance, ignoring the way the genius(?) walked into his back with an ‘ooph!’ Stark slept on people that stabbed him? Literally everyone on his team could kill him?

 

He let out a wounded noise and walked over to lean his head against the wall of a nearby skyscraper, lamenting his life and what it had become. Surely a man this unconsciously suicidal should not exist. How in the world had he survived Afghanistan? How did his team sleep at night, knowing their teammate was so undiscerning? How did they not worry constantly that Stark would get into trouble?

 

Stark patted at his shoulders awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

 

“I don’t think I will ever be okay,” Bucky admitted sadly.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Bucky was attacked by Hydra on his way to find another safe house. He eliminated them, but now his arm made an ominous creaking noise. He tried to fix it himself. The creaking became more ominous.

 

Chagrined, he attempted to break into Stark Industries again. He was immediately dismayed; none of the security features had been changed since he’d been here. Maybe he should leave Rogers a note telling him just how crazy his teammate really was, and to keep a closer eye on him because the fact that he was alive was mostly a fluke at this point.

 

He made it down into the brunet’s workshop with minimal effort. He’d seen more of the spider-bots, but it seemed like they’d been… _leading_ him there. He wondered if the robots had as little self-preservation protocols as their creator.

 

Bucky dropped into the workshop and winced as it jarred his arm, then let out a yelp when he was sprayed with white powder. He clapped a hand over his nose and mouth, because clearly it was poisonous—

 

Then he saw the fire extinguisher. He raged internally. What even _was_ this?!

 

“Shoo, Dum-E,” Stark ordered, shoving at what looked like a mechanical arm. “You’ve taught him his lesson. You’re making a mess!”

 

The mechanical arm made a defiant beeping noise before it zoomed to the other side of the workshop with a whirr. It dropped the fire extinguisher and picked up what looked like a hand-vacuum instead.

 

“Why are you here?” Stark asked, turning toward him. He leaned forward, suddenly looking excited. “Are you here to admit that I’m a threat?”

 

Bucky opened his mouth, but then the arm made one more ominous creak, then let out a sound of something breaking, and it _hurt._

 

“Oh shit,” the smaller man blurted as he collapsed. He flailed, then grabbed him by the flesh arm and dragged him over to a couch.

 

Bucky was reluctantly impressed that the man could actually move him that far. Apparently his impeccable suits hid his musculature. “Something broke.”

 

“Yeah, idiot, I heard that,” Stark grumped, propping him up on the couch. He left and returned with a toolbox and a pair of glasses that made his eyes look bigger—magnifying glasses, huh. The tools in his box ranged from regular sized to drivers so tiny he could not see what kind of heads they had. “If you murder me while I’m fixing your arm, I will come haunt you in the afterlife. And if I have enough control, I will use my ghostly powers to make your arm hurt worse.”

 

“Not possible,” Bucky groaned, gripping his flesh hand into a fist. This was white-hot agony. There could be nothing worse than this.

 

“Ew,” Stark said when he popped the part of his arm open where the breaking sound had come from. “What even is this. Who _did_ this to you?” he asked, looking distraught.

 

“Hydra,” Bucky replied, because he was under the impression that the man would be talking to him.

 

Stark cooed, cupping his arm gently. “Aw, baby, they can’t hurt you anymore. You just need a little oiling, some TLC, maybe a few new gears. You just need someone to be nice to you.”

 

Bucky stared at the wall and sighed.

 

Well. He did get an excellently working arm for his troubles.

 

“Okay, flex,” Stark ordered, eyes ridiculously large behind his glasses. When he flexed obediently, the other man made some humming noises before delving back into the arm. “I can’t believe you’ve had this arm for so long and no one has done any maintenance on it.”

 

Bucky scowled. “ _I’ve_ done some maintenance on it.”

 

Stark looked up at him pityingly. “Honey,” he sighed.

 

Bucky glared at him and tried to think of something cutting to say that wouldn’t involve the brunet stopping his work.

 

“You missed dinner!” Barton crowed, dropping from the vents. Then he screamed. “TONY! What the hell are you doing?! That’s the Winter Soldier!”

 

Stark shoved a pair of tweezers into Bucky’s arm. There was a clicking noise. He drew out a broken gear. “I know. He’s threatened by me, so it’s fine.”

 

Bucky looked at Barton, trying to convey that he was not threatened at all but still didn’t want to kill him. Barton raised his eyebrows, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt that that meant he had conveyed his feelings on the matter adequately.

 

Barton walked over to him and held out his hand. “Hello. My ulcer’s name is Tony.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows in surprise even as he accepted the handshake. “Do you get chest pains, too?”

 

Barton sighed again. “Oh, so you know him, then.”

 

The brunet watched the smaller man pull out three more broken gears. “…Does Natalia also get chest pains?”

 

Barton scoffed at him. “Natasha has more faith in her pinky that Tony can take care of himself than I have in my entire body.”

 

“That’s why Natasha is my favorite!” Stark declared, then turned. “Dum-E, please bring me that box.”

 

The mechanical arm beeped and brought over the box he’d pointed at.

 

“Good boy,” Stark cooed, then stuck the tweezers in to draw out a new gear.

 

Barton dragged his hands down his face and groaned. “Tony, please.”

 

“I’ll eat when I’m finished!”

 

“…When will you be finished.”

 

“This arm is a fucking catastrophe.”

 

Barton grabbed the brunet by the shoulders and tugged him up out of his seat. “Barnes can wait for you to eat.”

 

“No!” Stark exclaimed, making grabby hands at the arm he’d been pulled away from.

 

Bucky shrugged his flesh shoulder. “Actually, now that you’ve pulled out the broken gears, it doesn’t hurt as much, so you can go eat.”

 

Stark looked at him as if he’d been horribly betrayed.

 

“I dislike you marginally less than before,” Barton informed him, then literally dragged the smaller man, kicking and yelling, into the vents.

 

Bucky turned to look at the robot, Dum-E, which was aiming its camera up at the vent. “Does this happen often?”

 

Dum-E beeped.

 

“More often than you’d think,” Natalia drawled, making him jump and reach for his gun. “I’m not going to kill you. It wouldn’t be fair, with your arm a limp noodle.” She set a plate of food down beside him. “This was for Tony, but since Clint kidnapped him, I guess you can have it.”

 

He was actually starving, but he still gave the plate a long, suspicious look.

 

She rolled her eyes. “It was actually for Tony, so there’s no poison in it.”

 

Bucky reached out and speared a piece of asparagus. “His loss. Are you going to tell Rogers I’m here?”

 

“No,” she replied, shrugging when he looked up at her in disbelief. “Steve’s said that he’ll wait for you to come back in your own time. If it’s not that time yet, what does it matter whether he knows or not?”

 

He remembered Rogers being more stubborn, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Is Barton going to let Stark come back to finish working on my arm?”

 

Natalia hummed thoughtfully, rocking back on her feet. “Who knows. The couch is quite comfortable, though.”

 

Bucky stared up at her before taking another bite of asparagus.

 

Barton didn’t let Stark back into the lab until the next morning, and even then, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent prowled around the workshop trying to look menacing.

 

It didn’t work. Barton knocked over what looked to be a bastardized engine and then Stark had been yelling and Bucky had just sort of… scuttled out of the way, into a corner.

 

What was his life.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“…Thanks,” Bucky said, twisting his arm experimentally after the brunet had closed it.

 

Stark looked smug. “You’re welcome.”

 

“I—uh, I guess I’ll get out of your hair.”

 

Stark looked decidedly less smug. “What why. I still need measurements! And for you to be here! So I can make your new arm!”

 

“My what,” Bucky said, just barely heard over Barton sighing loudly from the stool he was sitting on.

 

“Oh, come on!” the blond exclaimed over Natalia’s somewhat mean laughter. “Just let the assassin go!”

 

Stark scowled at him, looking petulant. “No. I’m collecting them. I’ve already got a Black Widow and a Hawkeye. Now I need a Winter Soldier.”

 

Natalia’s laughter became less mean and more genuinely mirthful, but she didn’t stop laughing for several minutes.

 

“That is literally the worst decision I have ever heard you make and Bruce said you’ve been eating food from under the couch!” Barton shrieked.

 

Bucky looked desperately at Natalia as they began to squabble. “Why?”

 

She shrugged. “He’s… a little different.”

 

“He’s a mad man, is what you mean.”

 

Natalia hummed, tilting her head. “That too, I suppose. Tony has the bad habit of picking up strays more than Clint does.” She pointed at herself as if to say ‘case in point.’ “I stabbed him in the neck with a needle. It saved his life, but most people wouldn’t care about that—they’d just hate me. Tony held it against me for a while, but then he got over it, amazingly enough. He actually warmed up to me again when he saw me break a man’s neck with my thighs.”

 

Bucky felt faint.

 

“And he _really_ liked me when I started using the stripper pole on his jet for fun one day. And not in the ‘oh my God that’s so hot’ way, but in the ‘holy shit look at her muscles’ way.” She glanced down at her nails, smirking. “I am always happy when people notice my muscles over my curves. Also it was quite flattering when he begged me to teach him some moves. I know he doesn’t look it, but his upper-body strength is phenomenal.”

 

Bucky pressed his fingers to his temples and groaned. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

 

“If it makes you feel better, Steve has also gotten faint from things Tony has said,” Natalia informed him. “One time he even had to sit down before he fell down. He is a surprisingly sensitive soul, for someone who’s always ready for a fight.”

 

That… that did actually make him feel better, knowing that he wasn’t the only one who reacted this way to Stark. “I’m going to leave.”

 

“Too late!” Natalia said, almost sing-song, and so softly that only he could hear it. She smiled and stood to leave the room. Her swagger definitely had a tone of ‘see ya, sucker’ to it.

 

“JARVIS!” Stark barked. “Take Barnes’s measurements while I _try_ to convince Clint that this is clearly the greatest idea ever!”

 

“If by ‘greatest’ you actually mean ‘ _worst ever!’_ ” Barton snapped back at him.

 

“I’m going to give him a laser.”

 

Bucky actually thought he might faint as he helplessly said, “Please don’t give me a laser.”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Barton was clearly pissed off when he came into the workshop with three boxes of pizza. Bucky was pretty sure he had him beat for the most pissed off, though; he’d somehow been conned into accepting the laser.

 

“I still can’t believe you’re okay with outfitting the enemy with a newer, better weapon,” Barton hissed.

 

Bucky didn’t even want to think about that argument. _He_ had gotten involved in that argument by saying it was a bad idea, and Stark had still brushed him off. The chest pains were coming back.

 

“Here,” Barton snarled, shoving an entire box of pizza at him.

 

There were dancing pieces of pizza on the lid. Bucky thought he’d been there, maybe. The art looked familiar, anyway. He opened the box with his one working arm (because Stark had disabled his metal one so he wouldn’t leave, God damn it) and was pleased to see a meat lover’s pizza. He was hungry all the time. The protein would help.

 

“And here,” he snarled, shoving the other box at Stark, who let out a happy squeal and grabbed it.

 

“Pizza!”

 

Barton looked quite put out. “Heathen.”

 

“Natasha likes anchovies on her pizza,” Stark said primly, taking out a slice of pizza that did, indeed, have tiny fish on it. “And you never call _her_ a heathen.”

 

“He told me I was gross,” Natalia said, dropping gracefully from the vent. Dum-E handed her a smoothie. Her smirk immediately morphed into a charmed expression. “Thanks.”

 

Tony grabbed a slice to hand to her. “Don’t drink that.”

 

She frowned, looking disappointed. “Is there oil in it again?”

 

“No, but it’s basically all protein powder.”

 

“Ew,” she whispered, but smiled at the robot as she took the pizza and sat down beside the genius. “Thanks anyway, Dum-E.”

 

The robot trilled happily.

 

Bucky was reluctantly charmed as well.

 

“I still say that this is the worst idea you’ve ever had and I can’t believe you’re okay with being in a room alone with this guy,” Barton said, pointing at him.

 

Bucky nodded. “I agree.”

 

Natalia opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then apparently thought better of it, taking a bite of her pizza. Stark looked shifty as well. They were hiding something.

 

Barton narrowed his eyes at them but didn’t say anything. Bucky got the impression that there were things about Stark that he didn’t want to know.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

While he was waiting for his new arm, Bucky snuck around the tower. He tied his wrist to his belt so his metal arm wouldn’t get dragged along the vents and make noise. He’d tried to convince Stark to put his arms to rights, but Stark had cheerfully told him that as long as his arm wasn’t working he had to stay, so why would he fix that? Bucky knew why Barton talked about ulcers and heart palpitations now.

 

He dropped into the common kitchen and poked around. He took two knives and hid them on his person, then opened the fridge, because he was kind of hungry and the smoothies Dum-E made were… not quite filling. Even when they were edible.

 

He pulled out everything he needed to make a sandwich. At least Stark bought the good lunch meat.

 

Bucky was only halfway through his sandwich when he heard the elevator. He looked down at his sandwich mournfully before leaving it and the utensils he’d used to make it to climb back into the vent. It’s not like he could hold a sandwich and use the same hand for climbing. Even if he seriously thought about it.

 

Banner came stumbling in, looking tired. He shuffled around the kitchen aimlessly, saw the remains of the sandwich, and _fucking grabbed it and booked it from the kitchen what the fuck._

 

“Oh, yeah, he steals food when no one’s looking,” Stark said when he came back to the workshop in hysterics because what if the food had been poisoned oh my God. “Pretty sure his dad withheld food when he was a kid. ‘s why he’s so good at protecting his food, too.”

 

“Does everyone in this building have a tragic back story?!” Bucky howled, incensed.

 

Stark blinked at him. “…Yeah?”

 

“Let me _die,_ ” Bucky snarled, then fell face-first onto the couch with a helpless, sad moan.

 

Stark patted his back awkwardly. “It’s something you get used to.”

 

“No,” the assassin said petulantly.

 

Except now that he knew that, he didn’t feel so bad about leaving food out as he escaped.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Hey, Tony?”

 

Bucky dove under a table to hide.

 

Stark turned from repairing one of Dum-E’s wheels. “Yeah, Cap?”

 

Rogers looked a little annoyed. “You know, I’m glad you’re eating, but could you at least put the food you don’t use away?”

 

Stark stared at him blankly.

 

“…You don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?” Rogers asked. His shoulders sagged a little.

 

“…No?” Stark answered cautiously.

 

The blond sighed. “You need to sleep more.”

 

“Probably, yeah.”

 

“Just… _try_ to remember to put the food away when you’re done with it?” he asked, smiling a little in reluctant amusement. “Well, good luck with whatever you’re working o—Dum-E will be okay, right?”

 

Stark laughed. “Yeah, he just ran over one too many screws. I’m reinforcing his rims so they can hold the weight of the new rubber for his tires.”

 

“Oh. Well, Dum-E, I hope you feel better,” Rogers said, smiling. “Tony takes great care of you, though, so you’ll definitely be better. Take care of him, Dum-E!”

 

Dum-E waved after him, beeping happily, even as Stark grumbled that he didn’t need Dum-E to take care of him.

 

Stark waited for the sound of the elevator doors closing before he turned, looking smug. “You _owe_ me.”

 

Bucky scowled, because no matter how he twisted it, he kind of did.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“It’s got secret compartments, first-aid supplies, and a Swiss army knife built into it,” Stark told him excitedly.

 

Bucky was a fool and, relieved, asked, “So there’s no laser?”

 

Stark scowled at him. “Of course there’s a laser.”

 

“Why in the world do I need a _fucking laser!?_ ”

 

Stark blinked at him placidly. “Who actually _needs_ a laser?”

 

Bucky thought very seriously of kicking his ass.

 

“Pointer,” Barton cut in, looking stern. “It’s a laser pointer. It’s just a light.”

 

The brunet pouted, crossing his arms. “But only because I haven’t figured out how to fit the power source into your arm yet.”

 

“I will burn off my own legs why would you ever give me an actual laser oh my God.”

 

“Seriously, Tony,” Barton sighed, grabbing the smaller man’s shoulders. “Let’s not get all _Star Wars_ up in here. He’s already missing an arm.”

 

Stark frowned, disappointed. “Aw. I guess you’re right.”

 

Bucky bit back the question of what he’d do with a laser pointer. That would be opening up the can of worms again. “Can I leave now?”

 

“If you have any problems with your new arm, come back, and I’ll fix it,” Stark replied serenely.

 

Bucky nodded. He wouldn’t be back.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

He had to fucking come back.

 

“I can’t turn the laser off!”

 

Stark gaped at him. Natalia looked at him for a moment, then began laughing at him. He hated her. He was going to fight her when he was told how to turn the laser off.

 

“You… you just… tap your finger against your palm,” Stark said after he recovered from his confusion.

 

Bucky wished, just for a moment, that the laser had been put in his middle finger instead of his index, just to make flipping them off a little more satisfying.

 

“…Since you’re here!” Stark continued brightly, and held up a vest that looked like very thin Kevlar. “I made you new body armor!”

 

Bucky took a deep breath, then let it back out. “Why?”

 

The genius’s smile faltered for a moment before returning full force. “Because your current body armor is abysmal!”

 

“Steve’s baking,” Natalia said suddenly. “Sugar cookies, I think.”

 

Stark tossed the body armor at him and sprinted for the elevator.

 

Bucky fumbled for the armor with a squawk. He hoped that Natalia wouldn’t tell Barton about it.

 

Natalia tilted her head as she watched him examine the armor before she slid from the table she’d been sitting on and… _prowled_ toward him. “I think we need to come to an understanding.”

 

“…I thought we had one: that I don’t actually want to be here,” the brunet replied after a moment.

 

“Basically,” she conceded, then slammed her hand against his chest so he went stumbling back into the wall. “But you’re here. And you’ll come back.”

 

Bucky scowled. “I won’t.”

 

“You will,” she said, like it was a fact. “And I just thought it would only be fair to warn you that if you ever, and I mean _ever,_ hurt Tony, whether you mean to or not—” Natalia leaned toward him menacingly, glaring at him. “I will find you, and I will rip your head from your body with my bare hands.”

 

Bucky squeaked.

 

“So accept his gifts. He likes to give gifts, and he is hurt when people turn them down.” She gave him another glare. “So you accept everything he gives you, even if you don’t use it, and you say thank you like you mean it.”

 

“Is he your son too?” Bucky blurted out before he could stop himself. Barton called Stark his bird-son all the time. One time he’d even called himself bird-mom. It was weird.

 

Natalia raised her eyebrows. “No. I try not to take that responsibility on myself, and I definitely wouldn’t do it for Tony. He is, however, my bird-brother. My little bird-brother, in fact.” She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward her so their faces were only centimeters apart. “And I will _crush you_ if you so much as _look at him wrong._ Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Perfectly,” the brunet replied, clutching the armor to his chest. He looked down at the armor, frowning, and pulled at it gently. “Wow, this is really nice.”

 

Natalia sneered at him like he was an idiot. “Everything Tony makes is nice.”

 

Bucky squeaked again. He was _never_ coming back.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Except.

 

Barton and Natalia were sent out on a mission, and Stark holed himself up in his workshop.

 

Bucky checked up on them over the weeks, of course. He would be a fool not to keep an eye on them, after all. (Sometimes, just to watch Barton pitch a fit, he shined his laser into the room he was in.) But he did need to keep tabs on all of them, after all; it wouldn’t do for him to go buy plums and then run smack into Rogers.

 

He didn’t really notice it, at first, but Stark… wasn’t doing well. Rogers and Banner did their best to feed him, but Stark didn’t really sleep as much as he should. Barely at all, actually. It was… concerning.

 

Bucky snuck into the Tower and dropped into the workshop. “You are very bad at taking care of yourself.”

 

Stark screamed and turned to face him. Then he frowned. He had bags under his eyes and he was pale.

 

“You look like death,” Bucky commented.

 

“Fuuuuuck you,” Stark said after a moment.

 

Bucky raise an eyebrow. “Well. At least you’re being fed.”

 

“Fuck you!” Stark threw the wrench he was holding at him and missed by several feet.

 

The assassin looked at the wrench. “Pathetic.” Another wrench was thrown at him and made it a whopping six inches closer to him. “Oh my God.” He approached the brunet cautiously, ready to deflect any other flying wrenches.

 

Stark brandished a screwdriver at him, but let his hand drop after another few seconds. “Go away.”

 

“No,” Bucky said, walking over to scoop him over his shoulder.

 

“What the hell!” Stark flailed, but was no match for his super-soldier strength. “Let me go! Lemme down, asshole!”

 

“No,” Bucky said again, walking over to the vent. “Come on, you idiot. Barton and Natalia will be… displeased, when they come back and see you like this.”

 

Stark was silent as he was pushed up into the vent, but he eventually muttered, “It’s nice that you think they’ll only be displeased.”

 

Bucky did not tell him that that was the only word he could think of to replace ‘really fuckin’ pissed.’ Stark didn’t really need to worry about that. He already looked ready to keel over. Instead, he just silently dragged the genius to Barton’s nest and tossed him in.

 

“Ow!” Stark yelped.

 

The assassin remembered Natalia’s warning and wondered if him trying to get Stark to sleep would cancel out that he’d accidentally hurt him.

 

Stark glared at him, pouting, but grabbed the ugliest blanket the older man had ever seen and settled himself down in the nest. He awkwardly reached out to tuck the blanket around him and raised an eyebrow when he felt the scratchy wool. He would have expected something like a big cashmere blanket. But whatever.

 

Bucky sat outside the nest and just watched him. Stark curled mostly under the blanket, so only his forehead and hair were sticking out. It was kind of endearing, now that he wasn’t incredulous about the brunet’s inability to sense danger.

 

He sat there, watching the brunet breathe quietly, before softly commenting, “You’re not sleeping.”

 

There was a long pause before Stark mumbled, “Can’t.”

 

“I can go get one of Natalia’s pillows?” Bucky suggested.

 

“No. She doesn’t usually sleep with us anyway.” Stark squirmed under the blanket until he freed one of his hands, which he hesitantly put at the edge of the nest.

 

Bucky stared at it for a few minutes before he reached out and gently took it in his flesh hand.  


Stark was asleep in minutes.

 

The assassin blushed a little as he turned his body to face away from the nest. He told himself it was so he could keep an eye out for anyone that might try to sneak into the vents, but deep down, he knew it was because he was embarrassed.

 

Maybe he should start referring to him as Tony, if he was going to hold his hand.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“What the fuck,” Bucky heard Barton whisper three nights later, and resolutely did not even twitch from where he was curled protectively around Tony. The blanket was scratchy as fuck, but he dealt with it anyway. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

 

“Shh,” Natalia hissed. “He’s sleeping.”

 

“Why are my children so reckless,” Barton lamented, as if he did not regularly jump off of buildings in battle without giving Tony any warning.

 

Natalia crawled into the nest and tucked the blanket around Tony more tightly. “Sweet dreams, Котёнок. I,” she declared quietly, looking up at Barton. “Am going to sleep in my actual bed. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight,” Barton replied, letting her climb out of the nest and crawl past him, then took her place in the nest, reaching out to gently brush his fingers through Tony’s hair. “…You couldn’t get him to shower?”

 

Bucky opened his eyes to glare up at him. “I got him to sleep. What more do you want?”

 

Barton looked thoughtful for a long moment before he shrugged, going back to stroking the older man’s hair. “I’ve had my hands in worse.”

 

Bucky wondered, for a moment, whether he should mention that he’d seen Barton get thrown into the dumpster on a regular basis. He discarded the idea. He was warm, and very comfortable with Tony snuggled up against his chest. He didn’t want to start a fight or anything. He sighed and draped his metal arm around Tony, careful to position it so it wasn’t too heavy.

 

“Aw,” Barton whispered as he settled at Tony’s back. “Okay. You can be my bird-son, too.”

 

“…Is… is this some sort of reverse imprinting thing? Like a mother duck imprinting on something as its child?”

 

“Ah,” Barton said. “So you understand.”

 

Bucky sat up a little, alarmed. “What? No, I really don’t.”

 

“You understand enough, though,” the blond reasoned.

 

Bucky really, really didn’t.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Barton spread his arms as Natalia walked into the workshop to drop her Widow Bites off for maintenance. “Congratulations. You have a new bird-brother.”

 

Natalia turned to give Bucky a skeptical look. “…You’ll do,” she said after a minute. She turned back to Tony. “One of them shorted out and the other is making a clicking noise.”

 

“Aw,” Tony murmured, frowning as he accepted them. “Poor babies. I’ll fix them.”

 

“You should greet your bird-brother properly,” Barton insisted.

 

She rolled her eyes and sighed quietly, turning back to the other assassin. “…I still stand by my earlier threats.” She pointed at him, and he did feel quite threatened still. “But! I suppose I could be bothered to protect your stupid ass too.”

 

Bucky felt flattered, even though he thought maybe he shouldn’t be. He didn’t feel as if he was especially stupid. He wasn’t the one that ended up in dumpsters or being almost-murdered-and-or-kidnapped in the room, after all.

 

“Wait!” Tony turned, eyes bright. “Does this mean I’m the older brother then?!”

 

“No,” Barton deadpanned. “Because he was still the one taking care of you.”

 

The brunet whined loudly. “But whyyy? I’ve been a bird-child longer! It’s not fair!”

 

“I’m ninety years old,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“IT DOESN’T COUNT! IF! YOU’RE! ASLEEP!” Tony shouted, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said so.

 

Bucky assumed it was because of Rogers. “But why,” he asked, because he was a professional shirt-stirrer.

 

The noise of rage the genius loosed was worth having to duck the tools thrown at him. Barton was yelling in the background, but for the life of him, he couldn’t hear anything more than ‘actual _bullshit_ oh my God!’

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

As much as he enjoyed watching Tony work (science these days was _amazing!_ ), he still didn’t like sitting alone in the room with only the robots as everyone met in the common room to see movies. Usually he wandered around the city and kept an eye out for possible enemies because someday Tony’s luck was going to run out.

 

Today, though, Tony grabbed his ankles before he could crawl into the vent completely to leave and tugged him back out with surprising strength. “Ack!”

 

“You have to come to movie night,” Tony whined, grabbing his arm before he could attempt to escape. “We’re watching _Short Circuit_!”

 

Bucky tried to gently shove him off. “That sounds like actual torture.”

 

“The fuck does that mean?” the brunet hissed, leaning back to glare at him. “What do you have against robots?!”

 

Dum-E, Butterfingers, and U all spun from whatever they were doing to whirr menacingly at him.

 

Bucky blanched. “Uh—I was actually talking about sharing a room with your entire team? Thor and Banner are level three threats.”

 

“Thor is an actual marshmallow and if we tell Bruce you’ve been kind of feeding him he will warm up to you immediately. Also it would be nice if Steve would stop blaming me for leaving food out.”

 

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it. Yeah, Tony would probably like to stop being blamed for what Bucky was doing. “I don’t want to make it awkward,” he said after some thought, because that seemed like it might be a better way to dissuade him. “I _did_ try to kill Rogers.”

 

“But then you _saved_ him!” Tony pointed out, tugging at his arm. “And you know he would be happy to see you!”

 

Bucky thought frantically for another excuse. He heard Barton crawling through the vents toward them and blurted, “…There’s not enough room on the couch for me with the rest of the bird-family!”

 

For a moment, Tony looked very, very sad. Then he brightened, eyes sparkling at the challenge. “We’ll _make_ you fit!”

 

“What,” Barton barked, dropping out of the vent. He looked ready to put his fist through Bucky’s head. “And just _where_ are we making him fit?”

 

Bucky blushed brightly at the implication, but Tony remained oblivious as he turned and grinned. “On the couch with us! He can be in a corner. Natasha or I could kinda sit on him. He’ll fit!”

 

Barton put a hand over his heart and let out a long, slow breath. “…Jesus. Alright, fine, just hurry up.”

 

“But—” Bucky began, but both Tony and Barton began dragging him to the vent.

 

“JARVIS, tell Nat that we’ll need extra blankets,” Barton ordered, climbing into the vent ahead of him to tug him in.”

 

“But—”

 

Tony gave him a shove up. “And extra popcorn because Bucky is a glutton!”

 

“I never agreed to this!” Bucky exclaimed.

 

Barton turned to face him and hissed, “If you don’t come, Tony will be sad. Don’t disappoint your brother.”

 

Why was this his life, Bucky lamented.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Somehow, the group was so bundled in blankets that no one even noticed he was there. Bucky was in awe. It wasn’t just Tony that was oblivious to danger on this team. It was literally everyone. It boggled the mind, that these people who were so good at fighting evil and protecting civilians were _so fucking oblivious themselves._

 

Hello chest pains, his old friends.

 

Halfway through the movie about an incredibly charming robot who only wanted to live, Tony nudged him with the popcorn bowl. “I want more popcorn.”

 

“I want to see what happens to Number Five,” Bucky hissed back, pushing the bowl away.

 

“You ate all of my popcorn and now I need more. Fetch!”

 

“Maybe you should’ve eaten faster.”

 

Tony turned toward him and said, “If you don’t get me more popcorn, I’m going to pinch behind your knee.”

 

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, like that would—OW!” He slapped the brunet’s hand away from his leg, scandalized. “What the _fuck—_ ”

 

Suddenly the lights came back on, and the movie paused. He could sense everyone’s eyes on him. Bucky took a moment to regret everything that had led him to this very moment.

 

“…Bucky?” Rogers asked after a moment, looking hopeful.

 

Bucky stood up, took the bowl from Tony’s hands, and turned on his heel to walk into the kitchen to avoid actually speaking. He stood just inside the door to eavesdrop.

 

“…Was that the Winter Soldier?” Banner asked after a long pause.

 

Rogers haltingly replied, “…Bucky… _did_ always like science fiction?”

 

“He is my child,” Barton said.

 

“I still have no idea what that means,” Rogers answered.

 

Banner agreed quietly. “I’ve given up trying to understand.”

 

Bucky began sweating a little as silence fell upon the room. What did he do now? He… he should escape. He began sneaking toward the vent.

 

Tony ran into the kitchen and whined. “Bucky, you aren’t making any popcorn!” He frowned when he saw the assassin hovering by the vent. “Are you leaving? You can’t be leaving. You wanted to know what happens to Number Five!”

 

Bucky turned the bowl in his hands awkwardly. “…I don’t… want this to be awkward.”

 

“I won’t let _any_ one talk to you if you don’t want to,” Tony informed him, smiling, and grabbed his shoulders to steer him over to the microwave. He handed him a bag of popcorn. “You know me. I can talk over anyone.”

 

That, Bucky did know.

 

He carried the bowl of popcorn back to the living room, hesitating a little at the edge of the circle of chairs.

 

Rogers looked at him earnestly. “Buck—”

 

Bucky yelped as Tony went skipping past him to the couch. “C’mon, what are we waiting for? Bucky wants to see what happens to Number Five!”

 

Rogers stared at him for a very long time before finally saying, “Yeah, that sounds like something Bucky would want.”

 

Tony snapped and gave the blond finger guns before flopping onto the couch. Natalia grunted and rearranged his elbows so they were no longer digging into her stomach. Bucky awkwardly slipped under the genius’s legs and offered him the bowl of popcorn.

 

Both Barton and Tony beamed at him.

 

“Let’s just… watch the movie,” Bucky muttered, pretending he wasn’t blushing, and turned to face the TV.

 

And if he wept a little when Johnny Five, Stephanie, and Newton drove off into the sunset, everyone was nice enough to ignore it. Maybe he’d join the others for movie night again sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The Avengers find out that Pepper is considered a bigger threat than them. They ask Bucky why, but he doesn't answer. Pepper remains smug.


	6. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury is too old for this shit. It's a good thing these idiots take care of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FURY IS JUST AN OLD MAN WHO CARES ABOUT TONY (and team) VERY MUCH. YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM MEEEEEE!!!!

Fury

 

“ _Mom!_ ”

 

On hearing that word, all the heads in the control room shot up and stared at the main screen. Not only was that the last thing they had been expecting to hear, it was also the most emotion they had ever heard out of the Man of Iron.

 

Fury frowned slightly. He automatically started to turn towards Coulson for an explanation, but he wasn’t there. And it really didn’t matter right now anyways. What mattered was the building that was about to collapse.

 

The same one Tony Stark just flew into.

 

“Focus, people!” Fury barked, successfully hiding his worry. “Do your jobs!”

 

Everyone instantly got back to work, not wanting to risk his wrath. Fury stood at the back of the room, glaring at the screen. He was satisfied with his position as Director of SHIELD, but sometimes he hated being stuck helplessly in the control room, unable to assist his assets.

 

Especially Tony, although he would never admit that, especially to the man himself.

 

He watched as the red and gold armour didn’t emerge before the building went down. Fortunately, the top quarter looked almost like it wasn’t planned, so when it was the only section that collapsed, the debris stayed on the wide rooftop/balcony of the rest of the building. There shouldn’t be any civilians left in the battle zone, but better safe than sorry.

 

Speaking of, what on earth had happened to the only flying member of the team who was fighting today?

 

He could see the reactions of the others on smaller screens in the room, but the focus was on the debris.

 

The Black Widow looked worried, as worried as she ever got, although that was only visible to those that knew her well. Her destruction of the many robots become more violent and effective, and less playful. She wasn’t going to waste time while her teammate was injured.

 

Rogers also looked worried, but he had always been good at compartmentalizing when something like this happened. Fury wasn’t worried about him ignoring the plan.

 

The Hulk was gleefully smashing. Fury doubted that he had realized Stark was in trouble. They had yet to figure out how to keep an ear piece in his ear during transformations.

 

Hawkeye was missing, clearly the ‘mom’ that Stark had gone after.

 

It was the Winter Soldier that Fury was really worried about. Although Bucky Barnes was as harmless as any SHIELD agent could get, and he had never gone after anyone Rogers hadn’t told him to, sometimes when threatened he reverted to a different personality.

 

It wasn’t quite as bad as the one he had used when under HYDRA’s control, but it was still terrifying. He was scared of nothing, and he would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

 

And now it looked like his goal was getting to Tony.

 

Fury took all of this information in in a moment, just before Rogers called out to his missing teammates.

 

“Iron Man? Tony, are you alright?”

 

It was dead silent as everyone held their breath, waiting for a response.

 

There was none.

 

“Hawkeye? Can you hear me?”

 

Again, a moment of silence. Fury could see Natasha’s face fall slightly. The Winter Soldier got even more ruthless on his way to the half collapsed building. Steve opened his mouth, about to try again, when they heard a cough.

 

“I’m good… I’m good.”

 

It was Barton.

 

“Tony pushed me out of the way… Tony!” He stopped talking through the comms, but everyone could hear his gasping breaths and loud clangs and thumps as he presumably moved debris around.

 

Rogers took charge, as he was trained to do.

 

“Natasha, keep fighting down here. It doesn’t look like we can stop the Soldier from making his way up there, but we can’t spare anybody else. He and Hawkeye will have to be enough. Fury, we’ll need a medical evac as soon as possible.”

 

Fury took a deep breath, keeping his face carefully neutral.  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Either you get rid of all the robots, or Barnes and Barton get Stark out of the battle zone. There’s nothing we can do otherwise.”

 

He could see the resentment on Rogers’ face, but he nodded and followed orders. “Clint, did you hear that? You need to extract Tony to a safe spot. Let the rest of us take care of these guys.”

 

Once again, there was no response from Hawkeye, but everyone knew he’d heard.

 

The Soldier managed to make it up to the now upper most floor, and the two of them set a rapid pace in searching for their… friend? Something more? Fury didn’t know. Now wasn’t the time to try to figure it out.

 

He headed towards his office.

 

“If that fool manages to get himself killed, I’ll have to deal with a ton of paperwork,” he grumbled.

 

There were no knowing looks behind his back. No one knew the amount of concern Fury had for the only official civilian on the team. And certainly no one knew that Peggy would castrate him if Tony died under his watch.

 

He was fortunate that when she found out Stark had joined the Avengers, she had only…

Fury shuddered. Best not to think of it.

 

Instead, he brought up the video feed on his computer, different cameras on three different monitors, because he would be remiss if he didn't keep an eye on everyone. He took a quick glance at the first; Romanov was still dismantling robots at a steady pace. Rogers was backing her up, as the Soldier had left her without it, and he threw his shield with a viciousness that he typically did not. Hulk was still smashing away, but now he looked angrier, and his roars were meaner. He must have noticed that Iron Man wasn't flying by, whooping, like he usually did.

 

Fury turned his attention to the third screen, face stony. He could only see the debris still, but he could hear it being moved around, along with the occasional grunt as either Hawkeye or the Soldier did something particularly strenuous. He hoped that neither of the idiots strained something. He could not— _would_ not—send a medivac team in until it was safe. He had a responsibility to his other agents as well. Still, Stark didn’t need to stay under that rubble any longer than necessary.

 

“Hurry up,” he told the screens quietly. He was too old to be a field agent, had too many healed injuries that slowed him down. Still, in times like these, he missed being able to do something to help. He wondered how Peggy Carter had dealt with this, being stuck at headquarters while her people were at risk and she could do nothing but watch.

 

“—Hand.”

 

Fury leaned forward in his seat, scowling at the screen that still showed nothing but rubble.

 

“I’ve got a hand,” Hawkeye said, voice reedy with relief. “I’ve got—It’s his actual hand oh my God. The gauntlet—Oh my God, I bet his bones are in _pieces._ ”

 

Fury picked up his phone. “Dawson, get ready for a medivac,” he ordered as soon as he heard the other end pick up. “I want you at the perimeter. Either you’re cleared to go to Iron Man, or he’ll be brought to you. You wait until you have him. He’s our priority.”

_“Understood, sir,”_ Agent Dawson answered immediately and hung up without another word, because she, at least, was a competent agent.

 

“Hawkeye!” Rogers barked. “Sitrep!”

 

There was a very long pause as they listened to rubble shifting and the Soldier letting out some very colorful curses in Russian. “It’s like all of the cement in the building fell on him,” Hawkeye finally said, distressed. “I’ve got his left arm free. The gauntlet’s in pieces but it seems like the rest of the armor on his arm held up.”

 

“Where are all these robots coming from?” Romanov snarled, and then she turned toward the Hulk and shouted, “Hulk! Smash them _harder!_ ”

 

Hulk let out a furious roar and did just that, throwing the robots around like they were made of paper.

 

Rogers turned, face set into an angry mask. “Natasha! Hulk and I have this. Go help Hawkeye and Barnes.”

 

Fury wondered, vaguely, if perhaps Rogers didn't have some Hulk-like qualities. He was more destructive when he was angry.

 

Romanov did as she was told, barely even pausing to take out the robots in her way. Not that there were many. Because the Hulk.

 

“His reactor’s still lit!” Hawkeye shouted suddenly.

 

Fury felt his shoulders loosen from the tight knots he hadn’t noticed he’d had. At least he could stop worrying about that particular dilemma. That wasn’t necessarily something his medical team could help with.

 

“I see his helmet,” the Soldier cut in.

 

There was a rustling, probably Hawkeye shuffling over. “Is he okay, can you see lights in the helmet?!” He groaned loudly when the Soldier only grunted and continued shoving the rubble away. “You’re the actual worst, you know that?!”

 

Fury gripped his hand into a fist and covered his mouth with it, wishing the cameras could get close enough to see into the ruined building.

 

“—There’s light,” Hawkeye breathed. “Tony? Tony, can you hear me? Oh my God his finger twitched. Um, okay, so he’s conscious? And can move a finger. That’s good, right?”

 

“He won’t be conscious for long if you don’t get him the fuck out of there,” Fury muttered.

 

There was a loud groan of metal bending. Fury stiffened as he watched one of the steel beams tilting and sliding off of the building. He glanced at the other screens, but he couldn’t find Widow on any of them.

 

Luckily, Widow let out a stream of curses in Russian the entire time it fell and clanged across the ground, so he knew she hadn’t been hit.

 

“Helmet's uncovered!” Barton exclaimed. There was the sound of something clicking, and then a hiss. “Tony, are you—holy shit.”

 

Fury clenched his hands into fists again, scowling. That wasn’t fucking ominous at all.

 

“…Clint? Are you okay?”

 

Somehow, the fact that Stark could probably be holding his guts in his hands and still ask if someone else was okay would never cease to amaze him. He sometimes thought about going to Howard Stark’s grave and spitting on it. It was more than he deserved.

 

“Of course I’m okay,” Barton said, voice shaking a little. “You pushed me out of the way. Thanks, Tony.”

 

“…Can we have milkshakes after we’re finished?”

 

“Yeah, honey, of course.”

 

There was another long silence before Romanov cursed again. “Котёнок, why is it always you?”

 

Fury could relate to the sentiment.

 

“All three of you are here. Does that mean the battle’s over? Can we go get milkshakes?”

 

“You’re still stuck under some rebar, you idiot,” the Soldier finally spoke. “You’re not going anywhere until we get you out.”

 

“I want chocolate.”

 

Romanov and Barnes hissed some pretty colorful curses, but apparently quietly enough that Stark didn’t care to try and translate it.

 

Barton let out a wet-sounding laugh. “We’ll get you the chocolatiest milkshake in New York, Tony.”

 

“We’re clear!” Rogers suddenly barked, making Fury look back at the other screens. The only movement he saw was the Hulk wandering from robot to robot, giving them one last smash to make sure they were dead. “We’re clear! Get us a medivac!”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“…Sir?” Dr. Halliwell asked, brows furrowed together in confusion. “Mr. Stark isn’t cleared for visitors yet—”

 

“I’m not a visitor,” Fury informed him, glaring.

 

Dr. Halliwell put his hands up and stepped aside.

 

Fury took a moment to pat himself on the back for hiring intelligent agents and doctors. He’d hate to have to shoot anyone. He already had enough paperwork.

 

Stark was still asleep. Fury looked at him, at the neat row of stitches across the man’s forehead and the plaster cast around his left hand and arm. Someone had decided to be funny and make it red and yellow. Drugged up, Stark would be pleased about it. Sober, well… who knew? Luckily most of the damage had been to his hand, the one he’d used to push Barton out of the way.

 

Barton would probably feel guilty about this for a while. God damn it. He hated when his agents were moping.

 

Luckily the Iron Man armor had protected the rest of Stark’s body. His only other injury was his calf, which had had a piece of rebar actually go through it. It had glanced the bone, shattered some pieces off, but otherwise the bone had stayed intact. The surgery had been relatively quick and easy. All in all, the man had been lucky. Barton would be dead if he hadn’t been pushed aside.

 

Fury took a moment to sigh and feel every bit his age. Then he stood up straight again, set the milkshake he’d brought on the table beside Stark, and left, smirking. He had a plan, one that would hopefully keep Barton from moping and Stark from driving all of his nurses crazy. He just had to get in touch with one independent AI.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Where did you get that milkshake?” Barton asked, frowning, as he found a relatively high Stark happily slurping away at it. His hands were full of carrying boxes filled with milkshakes.

 

“It’s blueberry!” Stark said, smiling like he’d won the lottery. “It was on the table when I woke up!”

 

Barton squawked. “Why are you drinking strange milkshakes?!”

 

Romanov plucked a cup from one of his carriers, making him yelp and juggle to keep the other three cups from falling. She took a sip, shrugging. “Why wouldn’t he drink a strange milkshake? It’s Tony.”

 

“It’s a good thing I can drink milkshakes with my ulcer.”

 

Rogers blinked at him as he took the other three milkshakes, which were apparently all for him, serum and all. “Do you actually have an ulcer?”

 

“I’d be pretty surprised if he didn’t. Tony gives me chest pains,” Barnes said, grimacing, as he sat down by the bed with a cup in either hand. “Like now, for instance. Drinking this strange milkshake.”

 

“Blueberry,” Stark cooed happily.

 

Barton blinked at him, clutching the last four milkshakes. “I thought you wanted chocolate?”

 

“I do!” Stark lifted his left hand, fingers making the most pathetic grabby-hand they'd ever seen inside of the cast.

 

Barton took a moment to look distressed before allowing Banner to take the chocolate milkshake for him. “Please stop drinking strange milkshakes, Tony. It worries me.”

 

Banner carefully put the milkshake into the brunet’s wiggling fingers. “Actually, could you just not eat food when you don’t know where it came from at all?”

 

“Blueberry,” Stark repeated, smiling, then stuck both straws in his mouth and sucked. Some of the mixture dribbled down his chin.

 

“…Why are you like this?” Barnes whispered.

 

Banner grabbed a napkin and wiped his chin, helplessly amused. “Why don’t you finish your blueberry milkshake before you drink the chocolate one, huh?”

 

“I love you guys _so much,_ ” Stark said, and promptly disregarded the suggestion, causing more milkshake to dribble down his chin.

 

Fury coughed to cover up a laugh and cut the feed to his computer.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Barton frowned grumpily at the floor as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor. He should be by Tony’s side! True, he hadn’t left the room for 3 days, but Tony was his bird-son! And he had gotten hurt because of him! Staying with him was the least he could do.

 

But even Natasha had been on the doctor’s side. She had threatened him unless he went home, ate, showered, and did the paperwork for the mission where it had all gone wrong. Which was why he was now in the Helicarrier, he had to drop it off personally.

 

Finally the elevator dinged and he got off. He kept glaring at the floor, his shoulders tense. He figured his obvious displeasure was the reason the other agents stayed out of his way, so he ignored their whispers. Until he heard them say the word ‘Mom.’

 

“What did you say?” he all but shouted, whirling around and getting into the agent’s personal space.

 

Said agent stammered. He was a baby agent, and wasn’t used to the wrath of Hawkeye.

“Uh… It’s… You…” Clint’s glare intensified. He finally managed to get out a full sentence. “It’s your new codename. Sir. It’s all over SHIELD. Sir. Sorry, sir.”

 

Clint let go off the shoulder he hadn’t even realized he had grabbed, and barely noticed the agent’s escape. While he was pleased that they weren’t mocking Tony for his slip of tongue, he wasn’t especially happy about his new codename.

 

Clint briefly considered just owning up to the fact, standing up on a table in the cafeteria or something and announcing that yes, he was Tony Stark’s bird-mom, but decided against it. Tony was more vulnerable than most people knew, and he was very careful to keep his most sincere relationships a secret.

 

Besides, he couldn’t let people think that it was OK to pull pranks on him. He was the unbeatable prankster of SHIELD, he had to shut this one down and fast. And get his revenge.

Suddenly, Clint smiled. He had been wondering what he could do to keep Tony occupied while he was on mandatory bed rest. This would be a good distraction.

 

His mind made up, and feeling a little better now that he had a clear course in mind, he started walking quickly towards his destination. The sooner he dropped these papers off, the sooner he could get back to Tony.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Clint huffed grumpily. This just made Tony laugh harder. Clint glared at him. Really, ten solid minutes of hysterical laughter was a little much. Finally, Tony’s laughter died down and he lay there gasping for breath for a moment.

 

“OK, give me the StarkPad.”

 

Clint complied, still pouting a bit. It wasn’t that funny! Tony grabbed it eagerly, crooning at it. Maybe the drugs were still affecting him… Or maybe that was just Tony and technology.

 

Clint watched in awe as Tony typed furiously for a few minutes. He was always impressed by a demonstration of Tony’s intelligence.

 

And he supposed it was good that Tony was no longer begging to be released from the hospital.

 

With a triumphant “Ta-da!” Tony hit one last keystroke and passed the Pad over to Clint. “Would you like to do the honors?”

 

Clint smiled. It would be nice to have Hawkeye as his official name again. He accepted the Pad and looked at the screen, expecting to see his profile. He frowned when the only thing he saw was some code that he was pretty sure made up SHIELD’s firewall.

 

Tony scoffed at the look on his face. “It’s not that complicated, birdy.” Clint looked up and Tony grinned at him, eyes bright with mischief.

 

“What is this?”

 

Tony peered at the Pad, and all of a sudden the lightness in his eyes was gone and he was deadly serious.

 

“What? That’s not what was up there!” He grabbed it back and started typing even faster than he had before. Clint watched, concerned. He thought about asking Tony what was going on, but knew that when he was this deep in engineering-land, it was almost impossible to interact with him.

 

He hadn’t expected it to be this difficult when he had thought of asking Tony for his help with this.

 

After fifteen minutes, Tony looked up and frowned.

 

“This shouldn’t be possible! I've done this dozens of times! I have back doors! Whoever did this keeps changing the code on me. I've never met someone who was capable of doing that!"

 

Clint frowned. This was serious. Someone who could out-code Tony Stark? And they had access to SHIELD? That really narrowed the list down. Noticing Tony’s antsy look, he nodded at the Pad and said, “Do what you have to do.”

 

Tony smiled gratefully at Clint’s understanding and promptly buried himself in programming language. He barely came out of it for 4 entire days, not even noticing when the nurses changed his bandages or fed him. It was the easiest Tony had ever been in medical.

 

Which was good, because he didn’t even ask to be included when the Avengers were called for another job.

 

It was while they were gone, though, when Tony finally made some progress. “It was Fury!” he shouted loudly in outrage, almost disbelievingly.

 

Fury almost jolted, not expecting that to come out of the screen he was monitoring. “JARVIS!” he hissed, betrayed.

 

_“My apologies, Director. I was slightly distracted by the ongoing battle, and was not expecting him to be working in that direction.”_

 

Tony looked up for the first time in days, registered the fact that there was nobody in his room, and immediately jumped out of bed. He stumbled a bit, his fractured leg not supporting his weight, but he grabbed the IV stand and started hobbling his way out of the room.

 

Fury sighed. This was what he had been attempting to avoid. He looked around his office, switched away from all scenes depicting the ongoing battle, and informed his assistant that Stark was to be allowed entrance to his office.

 

He was entirely unsurprised when, two minutes later, Stark slammed open the door. He looked mildly at him, deliberately displaying an air of disinterest.

 

“You switched Clint’s codename! You’ve been denying me access!” Stark accused.

 

Fury nodded impassively. This only infuriated Stark more.

 

“How did you do that? Switch it back right now!”

 

Inwardly, Fury smirked. Thankfully, he had a backup plan. “Well, if you figured out the password, I’m sure you could do it yourself.”

 

Tony’s face went blank as he digested this new information. “The… password,” he repeated dully.

 

Fury nodded.

 

Tony glared at him. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!” He stormed out of the room.

 

Fury waited until the door closed and then let himself smirk. Hopefully this would intrigue Tony long enough that he would stay put until he was discharged.

 

An hour later, he realized he was wrong. Tony had managed to escape, somehow without anyone noticing. He learned this when Barton came storming in, his door getting slammed open the second time in as many hours, still in his battle uniform, demanding to know where Tony was.

 

At that moment, JARVIS piped up. _“Sir is at the Tower. He is safely resting on the couch.”_

 

Fury watched Clint’s noticeable relief, and again wondered at the close bond between the two of them. It was nice that the Avengers had become a true family, however unorthodox it might be.

 

Barton left without a word. Fury was slightly disappointed by Tony’s departure, now he wouldn’t be able to keep a 24/7 watch on him. JARVIS would never allow it. He would provide updates, though. He was grateful for that at least.

 

Still, he turned and grabbed his phone. As soon as the nurse at the station picked up, he barked, “Why was Tony Stark allowed to leave the premises?!”

 

“What?!” the nurse exclaimed, and then there was the clatter of the phone being dropped, and he heard the medical staff shouting orders at each other and running around.

 

It wouldn’t help, because Stark was long gone, but he wanted them to realize they’d fucked up before he reamed them out. Otherwise they’d never learn.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Fury did not hear from Stark for several days. They were the most perfect days. He had nothing to worry about Peggy Carter finding out, there were no invasions, S.H.I.E.L.D. had just finished the clean up from the last battle, and he finally caught up on the backlog of paperwork and was finally getting into the recent paperwork.

 

Then someone started hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D. computers and trying to download top secret files, and Stark was called in. Instead of getting right on it, though, he swaggered into Fury’s office with a smug smile.

 

Fury took a moment to be impressed that Stark could still swagger with a limp.

 

“So I noticed someone’s hacking you,” Stark said, as if Fury had not been the one green lighting his involvement. “It’s a shame I can’t help you.”

 

“If you’re the one hacking us, I will bring you up on treason,” Fury informed him.

 

The brunet scoffed. “I would never be so clumsy that you’d _notice_ me hacking you.”

 

Fury stared at him, unimpressed, then sighed tiredly. Fine. He’d bite. “Alright, then why can’t you help us?”

 

“The password to change Clint’s codename back to ‘Hawkeye,’” Stark said, sweeping his arm out grandly.

 

Fury stared at him. “…That’s it?” Before Stark realized he could ask for more, he sighed again, loudly. “Fine. It’s A-B-C-one-two-three.”

 

Stark stared at him for a very long time. “…That. That’s the password. That you used for some confidential files.”

 

Fury was kind and did not point out that Stark, self-proclaimed hacker extraordinaire, had not figured it out. That would just be asking for trouble. “Yes. Now turn your attention to the hacker.”

 

Stark swept out of the room.

 

How the fuck did he sweep and swagger with a goddamn fucking limp!?

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Stark burst back into his office. Fury briefly considered shooting him, but that would mean paperwork and then telling Peggy Carter and while she’d admitted that sometimes she wanted to shoot both Howard and Tony, she had never done it. He liked to think he could keep from shooting Stark as well. (Unless Howard somehow came back. Then he was fucking unloading his clip into Howard’s stupid ass.)

 

“You lied to me!” Stark shrieked.

 

“…When,” Fury asked, because he lied to everyone a lot and Stark was no exception. It was always for their own good, anyway.

 

Stark looked like he might explode. “The password didn’t fucking work!”

 

Fury stared at him for a very long time. The first time he hadn’t lied to him, and this was what he got. “…Did you use capital letters? The system is case-sensitive.”

 

Stark blinked back at him slowly before he let out an angry scream that Fury assumed might have matched that of a pterodactyl’s screech of hunger. He wondered how far the sound carried.

 

Barnes and Barton burst into the office a few seconds later. So it carried that far.

 

“What?!” Barton barked, gun out and looking around wildly for a perpetrator. “What is it?!”

 

Barnes said nothing, but that didn’t really mean anything when he had knives in each hand and several others on display. Fury sighed again. He wondered sometimes, but he was pretty sure he didn’t actually want to understand.

 

“IT’S FUCKING CASE-SENSATIVE!” Stark snarled, and turned to storm out the door.

 

Honestly, he was pretty impressed that Stark could do all of these things with his limp and couldn’t figure out the password was case-sensitive. The things he would never understand about this man.

 

“…What does that even mean?” Barnes asked, looking lost. “Why? _Why?_ ”

 

“Small child,” Barton sighed, patting Barnes on the shoulder, and walked out without explaining anything.

 

Fury stared at Barnes for a very long time before snapping, “Get out of my office!”

 

“What, nothing to tell me to help me understand?” Barnes glared at him. “Everyone else has been creepily helpful to me except you. …And Natalia.”

 

“I don’t like you,” Fury told him, and began reaching for his gun. “Get out.”

 

Barnes threw his hands up with a snarl and stomped away. He didn’t even have the decency to shut the fucking door.

 

“If Carter had told me this job involved herding cats, I would have turned it down on the spot,” Fury muttered, and went back to sifting through his paperwork. He was backlogged again. God damn it.


	7. Sharon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon thinks Tony is great. She wants other people to think Tony is great, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, after Howard and Maria die, Peggy Carter brings Tony under her wing. As much as she can, anyway.

Sharon

 

Sharon remembered the first time she met Tony, at her brother Tim’s birthday party. He looked so out of place, twenty-two years old; not old enough to be considered one of the ‘adults’ but still years shy of being considered one of the ‘kids.’ The oldest child there was her older brother John, and he was only thirteen.

 

Sharon was eight, and nearly vibrating with excitement. Tim had gotten a BB gun for his birthday. John had, too, three years ago, but John never let her use it. Tim was closer to her age, so was a little more likely to let her use it. She couldn’t wait until she turned ten and got a BB gun of her own.

 

But Tim wouldn’t let her use it. She figured he would, later, when some of the shine wore off and Dad wasn’t there to make disapproving eyes at a girl using a gun. Still, she was a little frustrated as she stomped over to the table and crawled into a seat. She wouldn’t say anything, though. It wouldn’t do to be so selfish on her brother’s birthday, after all.

 

“…Are you okay?”

 

Sharon glanced at the brunet, who looked awkwardly concerned, as if he shouldn’t have asked but couldn’t help himself. She sighed. “…I thought Tim would let me use his BB gun but he won’t. And I can’t make a fuss about it because Dad thinks that girls shouldn’t be using guns.”

 

“Can’t believe he’s getting away with that,” Tony mused. “Peggy’d usually never stand for it.”

 

“Dad threatened to stop letting us see her if she didn’t start butting out,” Sharon admitted.

 

Tony tilted his head, looking reluctantly impressed. “What a  _dick._ ”

 

Sharon opened her mouth to defend him, but he was kind of a dick. Instead, she shrugged, sitting back in her seat. “Yeah, well, when I turn ten, I’m gonna get a BB gun and I’m not gonna have to wait for permission to use it again,” she said, nodding.

 

And then on her tenth birthday, she got a Lite-Brite and an Easy-Bake oven. She was bitterly disappointed and, at John’s sneer and Tim’s sympathetic frown, didn’t even try to hide it. “I said I wanted a BB gun. John and Tim got BB guns for their tenth birthdays. I don’t want these.”

 

Her mother frowned awkwardly. Apparently she’d thought that two presents were enough to make up for them being not being what she wanted.

 

“Sorry, sweetie, I had no idea,” Dad said, the  _liar._  “Maybe next year.”

 

She was never going to get a BB gun.

 

Tony and Aunt Peggy arrived about fifteen minutes later. Sharon saw when Aunt Peggy noticed the lack of a BB gun. Her lips turned down into a tight frown, and her brows furrowed the slightest bit. But she wouldn’t say anything. Dad might cut her off.

 

Tony approached shyly, which seemed so strange, because he was twenty-four now and she’d seen him on the news doing great things. “I brought you a present.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said immediately, because she was thrilled but she was also raised to be polite, and Tony always looked so awkward.

 

Tony shrugged and set the long, thin package in front of her. “I wanted to.”

 

Sharon turned to look at her mother, who smiled and nodded before she went to talk to Aunt Peggy. She returned her attention to the present and ripped it open. She gasped.

 

It was a top-of-the-line BB gun, and she’d been drooling over it ever since she saw it in John’s shooting magazine. But because she’d seen it in the magazine, she’d known it was very expensive, too.

 

“I can’t accept this,” she said, but Tony began talking over her as soon as she started to speak.

 

“I modified some things after I bought it, so I can’t return it. Please accept it because I don’t want it.”

 

Sharon blinked up at him before grinning. “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

 

“…Tony,” he muttered, looking awkward again. “You wanna try it out so I can make any adjustments?”

 

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, picking up the box and rushing over to where they put up targets. She opened the box and almost squealed. It was a beautiful gun. “This is great, Tony!”

 

Tony smiled like he’d just been told that  _he_  was great. Sharon decided that she needed to do that, often and without restraint.

 

Peggy gave her an extra tight hug when they left that night.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

When she turned fourteen, her father and brothers went hunting without her. Dad had said that if she bought her own rifle, she could come. And then he’d told her that, well, it was actually more of male-bonding-time than actual hunting, and did she really want to take that away from John and Tim? (She did, and she’d told him so, loudly. Tim had said he didn’t mind. John didn’t care. Dad had still told her no.)

 

Mom was livid. Sharon had borrowed forty dollars from her to get the gun in time for the trip, and had done double chores to make up for it. Sharon was impressed that her mother would get so spitting mad when she usually just went along with her dad.

 

Two hours later, a limo arrived, and Tony Stark, twenty-eight and looking more relaxed in his skin, swaggered up to the door, took her mother’s hand, and kissed the back of it. “I’ve come to kidnap you and your daughter for some quality time with your aunt. If you’ll both just pack your bags—”

 

“Oh,” Mom said, flushing. “I only meant for Sharon to go—”

 

“Your dick of a husband left your daughter here after she was ready to pay her own way through the trip and then ignored you when you told him it wasn’t fair,” Tony said, face going hard. “Let him come home to an empty house.” His expression softened again. “Ma’am, how would you like a vacation? You won’t have to cook, clean, or look after anyone. And you  _definitely_  won’t have to help your husband with whatever game he brings back.”

 

“Just give me a moment to pack,” she said, and bustled back into the house.

 

Sharon gaped up at him. “You’re taking me hunting?”

 

“Peggy’s gonna meet us at the hunting lodge,” Tony said, shrugging. “So Peggy’s taking you hunting. I’m just the owner of the cabin.”

 

“You’re the  _best,_  Tony!” Sharon exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re so great!”

 

Tony beamed and hugged her back, spinning her in a circle. “I hope you have fun, Sharon.”

 

Sharon did have fun. Her mother spent the week at the lodge reading, sewing, and learning how to shoot a gun on the third day with Aunt Peggy. Tony learned how to use a sewing machine and was delighted by it. Sharon learned how to dress deer and pheasant from her mother, who apparently did that because her dad didn’t like to.

 

“Your father can do all of his dressing from now on,” Mom informed her. She aimed her gun, shot. Another pheasant fell to the ground. “He promised to take you if you could pay your own way and then went back on his word. Don’t worry, Sharon; you’re old enough that he couldn’t keep Aunt Peggy from you if he tried.”

 

Tony dropped them off in the limo. Her dad and brothers came out to watch, slack-jawed. Tony stepped out to help them out of the vehicle, pressed a kiss to the back of Mom’s hand again, then gave them a short salute. “Next time you want to go hunting, call me. Any excuse to get out of board meetings.” He gave Sharon a tight hug as her mother went to get the pheasants out of the trunk. “I’ll have your venison and deer trophies dropped off. Thank you for spending time with me even though I’m weird.”

 

“You’re the best,” Sharon corrected him.

 

He was grinning as he slid back into the car.

 

Sharon let that warm feeling stick with her even after her parents got into a violent argument and her mother threatened to walk out on him if he didn’t stop treating Sharon differently.

 

Sharon and her mother lived with Aunt Peggy for a while after that. When her parents were getting divorced, Tony took her and her mom on a vacation through Europe. Mom had a fling with a charming Frenchman so Tony and Sharon split off and went on a couple week backpacking trip. Their fling was short and sweet and Mom looked so much happier when they went back to the states, where Tim met them at the airport with his tail between his legs and said ‘Dad kicked me out.’

 

Tony put them up in a house until Mom could get a job and afford one herself. He paid for their college tuition. He made sure Tim got counseling when he exited an abusive relationship. He visited when he was in town. He introduced them to James Rhodes who looked just as pleased as Tony when Sharon told him how great he was.

 

Then Tony went to Afghanistan and came back a broken man. A broken man who pulled himself up by the bootstraps and put himself back together with a mechanical heart and after that first visit when he came home avoided them until he and Iron Patriot saved the President and Sharon used her S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Status to burst into his hospital room.

 

“You’re the worst,” Sharon told him for the first time in her life. “You’ve got my fucking phone number, Tony.  _Use it._ ”

 

Tony frowned at her and made a very sad noise.

 

“Asshole,” she continued, sitting in the chair beside his bed and reaching out to take his hand. “Mom’s worried about you, you know. She wants to bake you a pie.”

 

“Blueberry,” Tony mumbled, frowning. He always looked like a sad kitten when he frowned like that.

 

“I just… can’t believe you didn’t talk to us at all,” Sharon said, shoulders sagging, because she was weak against sad kittens.

 

Tony reached out to pat her hand awkwardly. “I didn’t want to talk to you while I was actively dying.”

 

“That’s very noble of you,” Sharon told him. “Please shove that up your ass next time and talk to us anyway.”

 

“Okay,” he said, because she wasn’t really giving him a choice.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

Sharon grimaced a little at her phone. Then again, it would be really hypocritical of her to avoid calling him after yelling at him to talk to them more. She sighed, rubbing her left temple as she held her cell phone to her opposite ear.

 

_“Hello, you’ve reached Tony Stark, make it quick because I’m busy!”_

 

“You can’t be busy,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You’ve got a broken arm and fractured leg. Auntie will be mad.”

 

There was silence for a very long moment before Tony said,  _“Who said I’m busy? That. That’s lies and slander. I’m obviously in bed. Resting. Bed resting. …Please don’t tell Aunt Peggy.”_

 

Sharon couldn’t help a sly grin. “I guess I could forget it, if you get me into that nice Italian restaurant that only lets me in because of you.”

 

_“Sharon,”_  Tony started, sounding quite insulted.  _“You are beautiful and clever and frighten me. I’m sure you could show up in your best dress and they would kick someone out just to give you a table.”_

 

Sharon opened her mouth to tell him how untrue that was.

 

_“But I will get you a table,”_  he continued.  _“With a plus one, even. Who would you like to be your plus one? I must approve of them.”_

 

“You, you idiot,” she sighed, smiling helplessly when he made a happy, surprised noise. “What’s the point of getting the reservation if you’re not there to keep a running commentary on all the other diners and their pretentiousness? Besides, it’s been… three months? Since we last ate together?”

 

Tony was quiet for a few minutes before jumping back into the conversation.  _“JARVIS will take care of the reservations. I’ll have him text you the time.”_

 

Sharon tilted her head, frowning a little. “…Where’d you go?”

 

_“…My arm hurts.”_

 

She sighed quietly. Poor guy was probably loopy on pain meds. “Are you hungry, honey? Did you eat something with your meds?”

 

_“Yes. Yes? Yes.”_  There was another few minutes of silence before he added,  _“There’s an empty cereal bowl on the table.”_

 

“Well, that’s good. I have an idea, okay?”

 

_“You have great ideas.”_

 

Sharon smiled, flattered. “Thanks, Tony. How about you take a nap, and when you wake up, I’ll be there. With donuts.”

 

There was a quiet gasp.  _“No one is letting me eat junk food while I heal except for milkshakes. Sometimes. Bring me donuts!”_

 

Sharon laughed. “Okay. You have to nap, though, okay?”

 

_“I can do that. Probably.”_

“For donuts.”

 

_“Okay goodnight I want sprinkles.”_

 

“Sprinkles,” she affirmed. Then there was a click, and then nothing.

 

Sharon smiled fondly. That hadn’t been so bad. Usually talking to Tony on the phone was like pulling teeth. Maybe the team he was on  _was_  good for him.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Tony can’t have those,” Steve informed her when she stepped onto the elevator.

 

“Captain,” she said, voice cold. “If you try to stop me, I will shoot out both of your kneecaps.”

 

He held his hands up in defeat. “I was just warning you. Clint and Bucky have been trying to get Tony to eat healthier to promote healing.”

 

“I don’t know who Bucky is but I’m also willing to shoot him in the kneecaps,” Sharon told him. “Barton can go suck a cock.”

 

Steve blushed, gaping at her, as she strode off of the elevator toward Tony’s room.

 

“Ooh,” Natasha said as she climbed down from the vent in the wall. “Can I have one of those? Clint’s convinced JARVIS not to order any junk food until Tony’s finished healing.”

 

“…You may have the jelly-filled one,” Sharon offered magnanimously. “What were you doing?”

 

“Clint forgot about Tony’s buckwheat pillow in the vents and I brought it down before Pepper could pitch a fit,” the redhead replied, pulling out the jelly-filled donut. “He should be waking up soon, which means Clint will also be up soon to bully him into taking his pain meds.”

 

Sharon rolled her eyes. “He’ll do it for donuts.”

 

Natasha wiped some jelly from her chin, frowning. “Is that his tagline or something? Why is he so easily controlled with food, anyway, do you know?”

 

“His parents weren’t that great so Aunt Peggy and the original Jarvis made him comfort food to distract him.” The blonde shrugged at the sympathetic frown the information earned her. “And his mother had Italian roots, so when she had time for him, she made all of these homemade Italian dishes. It made him equate food with love, at least a little, I think.”

 

“Barnes is going to shit a brick when I tell him,” Natasha decided. “He knows everyone here has a tragic back story and he might actually scream when I tell him this. Thank you for this information, Agent Carter. I owe you.”

 

Sharon thought about swearing her to secrecy, but she liked the idea of the Black Widow owing her, and also Tony would probably tell them if they’d just asked. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave the other woman a short salute before continuing to the bedroom. “See ya.”

 

“Protect those donuts from Clint!” she called after her.

 

Sharon waved idly to show she’d heard before she stepped into Tony’s bedroom. She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her when she saw Dum-E had been brought up and was waving a fucking  _palm leaf_  while Tony snored on his bed. Tony really hadn’t changed at all.

 

“You giant nerd,” she sighed, smiling, as Dum-E noticed her and did a happy little spin. “Yes, hello. I’m here to bring Tony donuts.”

 

Dum-E did another happy spin and dropped the palm leaf, zipping over to grab a chair. The leaf landed on Tony, who sputtered in confusion as he came awake.

 

Sharon took the chair the robot brought back to her and sat down, mostly because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings and crawl onto the bed after he’d gone through that trouble.

 

“What is—what—who did this?” Tony asked, finally pushing the palm leaf onto the ground.

 

_“You did, Sir,”_  JARVIS said, longsuffering.  _“Right before you fell asleep you ordered me to send Dum-E up. I was able to convince you to leave Butterfingers in the workshop and not feed you grapes.”_

 

“…That sounds like me,” Tony admitted, frowning.

 

“I have something better than grapes,” Sharon said slyly, holding the box open. “Donuts. You can’t take your pain meds on an empty stomach, right?”

 

Tony looked torn, even as he sat up and stared longingly into the box. “…But they make me sleepy.”

 

“I bet you’ve slept more since your arm was broken than you have in the last six months,” she retorted, holding the box out to him so he could pluck two of them out.

 

“Yeah, but it still sucks.” He looked back and forth between them, dismayed, then sighed and bit into the one with chocolate icing first. His eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my God. Heavenly. When I die, bury me with donuts.”

 

Sharon rolled her eyes, smiling. “Yeah, that’s something I want to explain. ‘I’m putting donuts in the coffin because Tony asked me to bury some with him.’” She paused thoughtfully. “…Actually, I don’t think that anyone would be surprised.”

 

“When is anyone surprised by anything I do?” Tony took a bite of the strawberry-iced one. “Especially with donuts.”

 

“Tonyyyy!” a sing-song voice called from the elevator. “I brought you soup!”

 

Tony shoved the entire rest of the donut into his mouth, wild-eyed. He said something around the pastry that, if she was generous, sounded like ‘hide the donuts!’

 

Then Barton came sweeping into the room with a tray that had a bowl of soup (tomato, she saw) and a grilled cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off. He saw the donuts and squawked. “Tony!”

 

Tony swallowed and stuffed the other donut into his mouth frantically.

 

Barton looked like he was seriously thinking of digging it back out of his mouth.

 

“Barton,” Sharon said coolly, drawing his attention to her instead.

 

Barton frowned at her. “Agent Carter. What are you doing here? Other than enabling.”

 

“I’m just having a friendly chat with my cousin,” she replied, giving him her best ‘fuck you’ smile. “He’s always taken care of me, so it’s only fair that I take care of him, right?”

 

“Oh. Well. I suppose.” Barton frowned. “That’s nice—but he shouldn’t be having donuts!”

 

Sharon bristled. “Tony is a grown-ass man who can decide what he will and will not eat.”

 

“Shoop,” Tony said around the donut, making a grabby hand at it. “Shoop!”

 

Barton’s face did something interesting before he set the tray on the brunet’s lap. “Okay, here’s your shoop. –Soup!”

 

Sharon raised an eyebrow when she saw no spoon. Then again, Tony couldn’t hold the bowl and the spoon at the same time with the cast. Come to think of it, Tony didn’t usually eat soup with a spoon unless he was in front of people he needed to appear dignified with—

 

Sharon slapped Barton’s hand away from the donuts. “Some of these are for  _me._ ”

 

“Tony shouldn’t be having so much sugar while he’s trying to heal,” Barton reasoned.

 

She turned, giving him a cold look, and said through her teeth, “What part of ‘cousins’ do you not understand, Barton?”

 

Barton held his hands up, placating. “Alright, sorry. But Tony’s already had two, and—”

 

“And again, Tony is a grown-ass man who can decide what he will and will not eat,” Sharon told him icily. “And Tony deserves all of the donuts. Tony is the best.”

 

Tony tried to beam with his mouth full of soupy sandwich. He made a sad sound when soup dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt, looking wounded.

 

Barton grabbed a napkin to blot the soup up.

 

Sharon stared at him, appalled. What the  _fuck_.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

“Mom wants me to bring over a blueberry pie,” Sharon said, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven. It was Agent Miller’s birthday and cookies were her go-to gift. She might toss a few in with the pie. “You’re allowed to ask for a different flavor after you get injured, you know. Are you healed or do I have to threaten to shoot out knee caps again?”

 

_“I’m healed,”_  Tony replied.  _“And blueberry is my favorite. But you can continue to threaten to shoot out knee caps if you want. Don’t let that stop you.”_

 

“You’re a doll. Hey, when are we going out to eat again? Sorry I had to cancel. I didn’t realize the op would be that long.”

 

_“It’s no problem. It’s nice to see that you enjoy your job. I had dinner with Pepper and it was only **slightly**  awkward when someone sent the band over to play us a romantic ballad.”_

 

Sharon snorted. “Who would do a thing like that?”

 

_“People are creepy, Sharon. Like did you know there’s real-person-fan fiction? Although how can I be mad if people ship me with Justin Trudeau? I’ve never met him, but he seems nice.”_

 

“Creepy,” she agreed. “Well, I’ll bring over the pie after I finish baking.”

 

_“I want a cookie.”_

 

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re getting an entire pie!”

 

_“From your **mom** ,”_ Tony insisted.  _“I want a cookie from you. Make it as big as my head!”_

 

She rolled her eyes. “Remember the last time I tried that, and the edges almost burnt and the middle was still raw?”

 

_“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. I love crunchy cookies. I also love cookie dough. It was the best of both worlds!”_

 

“I’m not going to give you salmonella right after you’ve healed.”

 

_“That is the worst decision you’ve ever made.”_

 

Sharon rolled her eyes again. “Oh my God, shut up. You’ll get what you get.”

 

_“As big as my head,”_  Tony insisted. Then there was a crash, and a loud screeching sound.  _“Oh my God Dum-E why are you like this?! Okay bye!”_

 

“Bye,” she told the dial tone, amused.

 

.-.-.-.-.-

 

Tony was in the gym when she got to the tower. She was a little surprised when she walked in and found Barton, Natasha, and a man with a metal arm in the gym with him. Tony usually only interacted with people in the gym if he was boxing with them.

 

Natasha noticed her first. Then again, Natasha noticed everything first. “Is that a pie in an actual pie basket? Where do you buy pie baskets?”

 

“It was my great-grandma’s,” Sharon replied, watching as metal-arm-guy showed Tony a move. “But you can buy plastic pie carriers at Bed, Bath & Beyond. What’s going on?”

 

“Did you know that Tony has three kidnappers stalking him per week on average?” Natasha asked, reaching for the tin.

 

Sharon slapped her hand away, still watching as Tony obediently copied the move. “I would have thought it was more.”

 

“We didn’t include the assassins. They get their own statistics.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Anyway, Barnes told Clint, and Clint screamed and then decided they need to teach Tony some self-defense.”

 

Sharon raised an eyebrow as she turned to look at her, unimpressed. “Tony already knows self-defense.”

 

“I know that,” Natasha said, shrugging. “And you know that. Can’t say that Barnes and Clint know that.”

 

“Okay, test that out on Clint,” Apparently Barnes said.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.” Clint made sure to reassure Tony as he got into position.

 

Tony nodded, face serious, and then leaned in to feint a punch. Then he spun and lifted his leg. There was an audible crack as his foot met the side of Clint’s head. Clint dropped like a sack of potatoes.

 

Tony blinked down at him, surprised, then perked up a little. “I smell pie. He turned, then grinned. “Sharon! Did you bring me a cookie as big as my head?”

 

Barnes kept gawping at the fallen archer, his mouth open in shock.

 

“I brought you cookies,” Sharon replied.

 

“Yay!” Tony opened the basket and pulled out a cookie. Then he glanced at Natasha, eyes narrowed. “…You may also have a cookie, I suppose.”

 

Natasha smiled and took the cookie offered to her. “Thanks. I’ve heard about Sharon’s birthday cookies.”

 

“Sharon is great,” Tony told her seriously.

 

Sharon glanced over at Clint, who was only now starting to sit up again. Barnes had managed to close his mouth and was now clutching at his chest. “So. Did you break your foot? Sounded like it hurt.”

 

“It does hurt but it doesn’t feel like that time Dum-E dropped my entire toolbox on my foot.”

 

Behind Tony, the two men made identical strangled gasps. They rushed over, Clint almost falling over because he got up too fast. Sharon watched, surprised, as Clint got Tony to sit down and started fussing over him, while Barnes looked at his foot, making sure it really wasn't broken.

 

But what she was the most shocked about, was that Tony didn't complain. He just beamed up at her, acting as if having two grown men mother-henning him was normal.

 

Which, now that she thought about it, would explain a lot of things. 

 

Deciding that she didn't care, so long as Tony was happy, she smiled back at Tony. Then she smiled at Barnes and Clint. It was no longer a nice smile. Now it was the kind of smile that makes grown men pee their pants when Agent 13 is staring them down.

 

Once they noticed, Clint gulped. Barnes straightened up, as if he were in the presence of a superior officer. 

 

“I don’t need to warn you about what will happen if you hurt my favorite cousin in any way, do I?”

 

They both shook their heads. Tony kept beaming at her, happy she was on his side. Sharon softened her smile for him and left the room, pausing outside.

 

“Seriously, Tony, are all the women in your family terrifying?”

 

She could hear the pride in Tony’s voice as he replied. “She takes after Aunt Peggy.”

 

“And you! I didn’t even see that kick coming! How did you do that?”

 

“I thought you knew?” Tony sounded surprised and innocent.

 

Sharon smirked. She’d heard that tone of voice many times over the years.

 

“What do you mean ‘you knew?’ I didn’t know!”

 

“"You knew I was kidnapped a lot; kinda useless if I can’t get out of there by myself.”

 

There were twin yelps of shock. “WHAT?!?”

 

“I thought it was just kidnapping ATTEMPTS!”

 

“All the times I watched, you always managed to not get kidnapped! I thought that was an ongoing thing!”

 

“Yeah, well, no one’s actually succeeded for a couple of years. But before that it happened all the time.”

 

There was a pause. Sharon could practically imagine the two trying not to explode as they took in this information.

 

“Tony?” Clint’s voice sounded raw, hurt. “How old were you the first time you were kidnapped?”

 

“I don’t actually remember this, but Jarvis said that somebody had me for a couple of hours in the hospital. But they didn’t get very far.”

 

“When you were in the hospital? When were you in the hospital?”

 

“You know, when I was born.” Tony was so nonchalant as he said this Sharon couldn’t help but smirk again.

 

She already knew this story, and had already expressed her anger with her Howard and Maria by destroying a couple thousand dollars worth of their favorite wine. She had since been able to find some morbid humour in it. It’s not like Howard and Maria had been around to see it anyway. They’d been long gone by the time she’d found out.

 

A strangled squawk had come from inside the gym. Natasha, who had left the room right after her, smirked darkly.

 

“They always try to mentally downplay the horrors of his childhood. But he appreciates that.”

 

Natasha turned and looked at her, oddly serious. “They really care about him, you know? He’s family to them.”

 

Sharon smiled. “I know. And I know you’re always going to be on his side too. I trust you.”

 

Natasha smiled back, grateful for the approval of one of Tony’s family members that he actually liked. The two of them headed down the hall as a shout of, “ULCERS!” came from inside the room.

 

“I’m never letting you outside of my sight ever again!”

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

A few weeks later, Sharon had just finished her debrief on her latest mission when Natasha slid smoothly into place beside her. “Tony’s fighting Bucky.”

 

“Some context here would be nice.”

 

Natasha smirked. “Now that Tony’s foot is healed, Bucky wants to make sure his win wasn’t a fluke and Clint insists it’s Bucky’s turn. Want to watch the show with me?”

 

It was Sharon’s turn to smirk. “I’d be happy to.”

 

Back at the Tower, Bucky was leading Tony through some warm up stretches. Everyone was there except for Steve, who was on the other side of the country at Fury’s request. He’d just have to watch the CCTV footage later.

 

Once Bucky was certain that Tony was sufficiently warmed up, Tony looking bemused the whole time, the two of them went to the designated boxing area. Sharon ate a piece of popcorn from the bowl that had had Bruce raising an eyebrow before helping himself.

 

Both men got into fighting positions, their arms raised, and started circling each other. That went on for a few minutes, Bucky clearly not wanting to start, and Tony having some sort of plan in mind.

 

Finally, deciding to get it over with, Bucky lunged forward with a clean strike to the head, expecting that to end it. Only to stare at the empty space where Tony used to be. The Winter Soldier never missed.

 

Tony smirked at him before starting circling again. Again, it was Bucky who broke first, this time putting as much speed into the swing as he could, aiming for the ribs this time.

 

His momentum almost caused him to fall flat on his face when once again Tony dodged. This time he didn’t take as long to recover, instead pressing forward into a series of hits and kicks, none of which connected.

 

Bruce was watching, not surprised even though he’d never seen his science bro fight hand to hand before. Natasha and Sharon were enjoying the look on Clint’s face though. He knew the reputation the Winter Soldier had, and he was not expecting Tony to have that level of skill.

 

Impressed, but also slightly frustrated, Bucky kept going, his punches getting even more precise, his entire body being used as a graceful yet lethal weapon.

 

Tony managed to dodge every single attempted hit, with a smile on his face. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

 

Eventually, Bucky decided to go all out. He feinted to the left, then released a massive right hook, smoothly turning that into a flying kick. Tony actually did a back flip to avoid that one, ending cleanly in his traditional 3 point landing. He grinned up at Bucky. Clint actually whooped at that.

 

Bucky growled under his breath slightly. While he was very proud and happy that Tony could, in fact, take care of himself, The Winter Soldier was not used to being beaten. It was with that mentality that he said, “OK, so you’re good at defense. Now to go on the offense. Hit me back!”

 

Tony’s grin faltered as he stood up. “Why would I want to go back to medical?”

 

Bucky’s serious-fight face turned into a serious-mother-hen face. “Why would you go back to medical?”

 

“I just got over my very much not broken foot, I don’t especially want to break my hand on your very super soldier face.”

 

Bucky was horrified at the thought. He hadn’t even considered that. Even imagining that he nearly caused his adopted bird brother harm made his heart race. He froze for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next.

 

Thankfully, or not so thankfully, Tony knew what to do. He swept his feet out from under him. Bucky crashed heavily to the floor. Natasha snorted, then pretended she didn’t when everyone looked at her. Clint started clapping. Tony beamed at the positive attention.

 

Once Bucky got up, he grudgingly admitted that Tony might be able to take care of himself after all. And he was not upset at all at being blindsided. It was his own fault for freezing.

 

Of course, Steve agreed with that. He showed his opinion by laughing very loudly and very long during that dinner after he’d gotten back from his mission. Clint had made sure to tell the story and all its details.

 

Bucky scowled. He didn’t mind admitting he made a mistake. OK, he did mind, but it was Tony, so he didn’t. But he didn’t think it was worthy of that much mirth from his fellow Avengers.

 

He tried pointing that out, calmly and rationally, but it didn’t accomplish anything. Fed up, Bucky smeared Steve’s face into his plate of mashed potatoes, kicked his chair out from under him, and left the room.

 

Steve’s laughter continued as he stalked down the hall.

 

.-.-.-.-.-.

 

The next day found the whole group back in the gym. Annoyed at Steve’s teasing, Bucky had challenged Steve to do better. Sharon wasn’t going to miss that.

 

“Steve’s been fretting the whole night about accidentally hurting Tony,” Natasha said as she stole some popcorn. Caramel popcorn, this time. “Tony had to agree to use his gauntlets. They won’t hurt Steve much, and they protect Tony’s hands. He drew the line at using the suit though.”

 

There was less circling this time, now that Tony was able to hit without breaking his bones, he wasn’t going to wait around. Steve wasn’t expecting the quick attack, and didn’t even get off a single swing as Tony pummeled his face and chest before retreating.

 

“Smart,” Natasha murmured. “Finding out how fast Steve really is before he goes all out.”

 

Sharon looked over at Clint for a second, who was muttering something under his breath. When she looked back, it was over. Steve was on the ground on his stomach, his arm pinned behind his back by Tony. She blinked, disappointed. Oh well, she would just have to get that footage from JARVIS later.

 

Steve squirmed uselessly for a second, even with his full strength he couldn’t get out of the hold Tony had on him. He tapped out. Tony beamed again.

 

Now it was Bucky’s turn to laugh uproariously. Steve was too good to get embarrassed, though, instead offering Tony a handshake.

 

“I’m impressed! You did awesome!”

 

Tony’s smile couldn’t get any bigger. As Sharon stood there with her new family, she was glad that Tony had come so far from that young man who had never been told that he was great. Now he had a whole family who told him that every day. She couldn’t be happier for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon Carter is a fucking interesting character and you can badmouth the way she was treated in MCU but don't you dare badmouth Sharon.


End file.
